


It's Always Sunny in Storybrooke!

by zoe19blink



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28636320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoe19blink/pseuds/zoe19blink
Summary: SAME CONCEPT, DIFFERENT FIC. I previously had a fic with this title, but every time I read through the original, I cringe at how immature my writing feels. So--because this is my favorite fic and I want to publish something I'm proud of--I've decided to rewrite it. I'm going to keep the main storylines from the original (i.e., Henry coming into his own magic and resurrecting dead characters), but it's going to be quite a bit different. If you prefer the original, I kept it on Fanfiction.net, but this is the version I'm going to work on. I appreciate all the love I got on the first one, but again--for my own personal pride and enjoyment, I'm going to rewrite it.Basic Summary: if OUAT were a sitcom. Picks up when everyone returns from Neverland, if Peter Pan had been defeated the first time around, and everyone settles back into normal life. Basically fluff, with a lot of swearing and weird friendships.
Relationships: Baelfire | Neal Cassidy/Emma Swan, Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Prince Charming | David Nolan/Snow White | Mary Margaret Blanchard, Victor Frankenstein | Dr. Whale/Huntsman | Sheriff Graham
Comments: 68
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

Emma blew out a slow breath as _The Jolly Roger_ sailed through the clouds, the town of Storybrooke laid out below like a Monopoly board.

How, she wondered, was she going to describe this moment in her memoirs? _And hours after defeating Peter Pan and blowing up Neverland, I sailed home in a flying pirate ship to a magical town full of fairy-tale characters._

“Damn,” Regina said beside her, grimacing at the town below. “I knew it was a small town, but from this angle, it’s just depressing.”

“Just hope it’s big enough for the two of us,” Emma muttered.

“You mean, the three of us?” Regina returned dryly. “I already knew that you and I would have to share Henry, but now it looks like I have to worry about Judd Nelson over there.”

Emma followed her line of vision to the main deck, where Neal and Henry were perched on a couple of barrels, laughing. “Yeah,” she sighed. “Looks like it.”

Between no sleep and constant adrenaline, she hadn’t had the focus to give it much thought, but things were getting complicated. _Way_ too complicated, for her maturity level. She was barely hanging onto the fact that she had to share a son with Regina, and she’d already had weeks to grapple with the idea. Factor in the reappearance of her ex-boyfriend and his readiness to be a father to the son he didn’t know he had, plus the vague _whatever_ between the two of them, and Emma was ready to pickpocket Hook for his flask.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Emma groaned, tilting her head back. “I almost wish there was another monster waiting for us in Storybrooke, you know?”

“Not really, no,” said Regina flatly. “I’ve spent three weeks in a muddy jungle run by murderous teenagers with only the Charmings and Captain Chlamydia for company. All I want is a thorough shower and a tetanus shot.”

The ship suddenly dipped forward, angling toward the docks. “Brace yourselves!” Hook called from the helm. “We’re landing!”

Emma grabbed the side of the ship, nails digging into the wood, and threw her weight against it. She hoped it was a strong-enough hold: she was still bruised from the bumpy landing in Neverland.

“Oi! Your Majesty!” Hook shouted at Regina, who seemed to think that folding her arms and looking bored was enough to hold her center of gravity. “What part of ‘ _brace yourself’_ did you not understand?”

“I’ll be fine,” Regina replied, not taking her eyes off the impending waves. “Just do your job, Captain. I’m sure you know how to land a ship without killing your passengers.”

Hook’s eyes widened furiously. “Regina—!”

“Regina, just grab onto something!” David said, just as Snow called, “Don’t be stubborn, not _now_!”

Emma didn’t know what point she was trying to make, but Regina remained with folded arms, staring down the waves. Hook muttered something about being, “ _so_ over the fucking estrogen parade”, and wrenched the helm to the side. The force of movement was enough to destabilize Regina: she stumbled, unwittingly grabbing a rope to prevent her fall. Seawater crashed against the hull of the ship, sending a shower of icy water over the sides that doused them all.

Emma coughed, choking on the seawater burning her throat. “ _Holy shit,_ ” she rasped. “Holy fucking shit.” She wiped her eyes, pushing her dripping hair out of the way, and willed the wind not to blow because _holy fucking shit, it was freezing._

She looked around, counting heads to make sure no one had gone overboard. David and Snow were staggering to a stand, while Neal and Henry were crawling out from behind the barrels. Rumple sat on the steps, looking annoyed as he wrung water from his hair.

“Beautiful,” he kept saying bitterly. “Absolutely beautiful.”

Regina was still clinging to the rope, thoroughly drenched, spitting out seawater. She wiped her mouth across the back of her hand and glared over her shoulder at Hook, who was untangling the chains around his neck. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Aye!” Hook shot back. “It’s all part of my villainous plan to ruin your pantsuit!”

“Guys, come on,” Emma said exasperatedly, cutting in before the argument could take off. “It wasn’t the most graceful landing, but we got home alive, right? Let’s just be thankful we’re alive.”

“Especially with the way _he_ drives,” Rumple muttered.

“Jesus bloody Christ—” Hook threw his arms up and began cursing under his breath.

Emma closed her eyes, feeling exhausted. Not just because she’d gone forty-eight hours without sleep, but because the mission was over, Henry was safe, and _they were still fighting._ The first time this happened aboard _The Jolly Roger_ , Emma had jumped ship, hoping that her near-drowning would be enough to distract them all from arguing. It had worked, but only briefly: as soon as they hit land, they started arguing again, which had only continued the further they got into the Neverland jungle. And then they’d found Neal in the Echo Caves, and that set off a whole other round of arguments. And then they argued about the best way to save Henry, the best way to get home, and whether or not putting the rescued Lost Boys to work violated child labor laws. The arguing hadn’t stopped, not for a second, and Emma was seriously considering jumping ship again for a moment of peace.

She looked at the netted rope hanging from the mast. It was probably the best place for speech-making—she’d used it before—and it was a better option than diving over the side to get everyone’s attention. But she was so tired, and her feet had a way of getting tangled up in those nets, and really, the docks were _right there_ —did the situation really merit a speech? Was it necessary? It didn’t feel necessary. Felt a little indulgent, to be honest.

“Swan!”

Emma’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Hook barking her name. She found him at the helm, glaring daggers at her.

“Didn’t you hear me?” he demanded. “I can’t crew this ship alone! Grab that rope and get to work, or we’ll never make port!”

Emma tensed her jaw, not appreciating his tone, but reached for the rope all the same.

“Hurry up, you mangy cur!”

 _Mangy cur?_ She half-turned with an incredulous look, but Hook was too busy shouting orders at the others to notice. He clearly missed being captain of a pirate crew because he kept saying things like, “you yellow-bellied swine!” and “you lily-livered dogs!”

“Steady now!” he called when they were closing in on the dock. “Lest you fancy a dance with Jack Ketch!”

“What does that even mean?” Snow frowned.

“It means, I’ll bloody hang you,” was his flat reply. “Get on with it, you bilge rat.”

The entire town had turned out to welcome them back, it seemed. The crowd spanned the docks, spilling down the walkways and into the road. Emma could see a few familiar faces at the forefront: Archie in his tweed suit; Blue, watching with her usual disapproval; Leroy grumbling under his breath; Granny and Ruby, who must have walked out mid-shift; and Belle, particularly visible in a bright red blazer and impressively tall heels.

With the gangplank down and the ship tied off, they were free to reunite with those they’d left behind. Snow and David practically ran off, followed closely by Rumple, who headed straight for Belle. Neal took his time, approaching his father and Belle with a mixture of shyness and mistrust. Emma would have hung back, too, if not for Henry pulling her along.

“Come _on_ , Mom,” he urged. “Don’t be that guy.”

“What guy?” Emma asked, bemused.

“That guy who stands there and pretends they’re not a big deal,” he exhaled. “You’re a hero. Give the people what they want.”

 _Well,_ said a smug voice in the back of her head, _he’s not wrong._ She was a hero. Hell, ever since she’d got to Storybrooke, she’d been hero-ing left and right. Maybe it was time to rest on her laurels, at least for a bit.

“You’re right,” she said to Henry. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Regina tried not to roll her eyes as the townspeople welcomed back the Charmings with open arms. She’d elected to remain on the ship until the crowd thinned out, but that was proving to have several drawbacks: she not only had a front-seat to tearful reunions, but Hook had decided to provide commentary on it all.

“You think they really know all these people?” he asked, seated on a barrel with his feet propped up on another. “I mean, sure, we’ve all got our own crowd, but I doubt that the royals have a personal connection with everyone who turned out.”

“You’re probably right,” said Regina absently.

“Aye, I probably am,” Hook agreed. “What about you, love? Where’s your crowd?”

Regina closed her eyes, cringing at the endearment. She’d already told Hook multiple times not to call her “love”, but it seemed to be an incurable habit. “I don’t have a crowd,” she said. “I have Henry.”

Hook looked over, one eyebrow raised skeptically. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“No friends?”

“No friends.”

“Not even a bloke you shag every now and again?”

“Not even a bloke, and _no_ ,” she added, raising her voice above Hook’s immediate next question, “I’m not taking applications.”

“Shame, that.” Hook folded his arms, surveying the crowd with a slight frown. “So, what happens to us? Given what they say about villains and happy endings…”

“I guess that depends on whether or not we’re still villains,” Regina shrugged. “I like to think I’ve reached a gray point in my morality. A dove gray, if I’m being optimistic.”

“I think I’m still at a charcoal,” Hook mused.

Regina’s eyes remained fixed on Henry as he detached himself from Emma’s side and wormed his way through the crowd to where Neal stood, a little apart from Belle and Rumple. Something throbbed in her chest: a little vein of jealousy that pulsed stronger when Neal ruffled Henry’s hair. Logically, she knew that Henry was Neal’s son as much as he was Emma’s as much as he was her own; but being reminded of it in such a way felt like an insult. She clenched her fists, nails biting into the palm of her hand, tension seizing her muscles—

Henry turned and smiled at her with that crooked, boyish smile she loved. The jealousy melted away instantly, leaving her thoughts void of anything but relief and gratitude. Henry was safe; home; within reach. At the end of it, that was all she cared about.

“Let’s go,” she said to Hook. “If we stay up here any longer, people are going to think we’re scheming.”

“Aye, but if we go down there, they’re likely to hang me for piracy.”

“No one’s going to hang you,” Regina exhaled, not without regret. “Unfortunately, we abandoned the old-world laws in favor of the American legal system. At most, you’d get a night or two in the town jail, but I doubt David or Emma would enforce it. After all…” She pursed her lips, giving him a measured look. “We wouldn’t have been able to find Henry without you.”

Hook raised an eyebrow. “Is that a _thank you_?”

“Considering that it’s your fault we lost him in the first place? Not really.” Regina stepped over his outstretched legs and began walking toward the gangplank. “Are you coming or not?”

A moment of silence; then the sound of two boots hitting the floor. “I’m not one to leave a lady unescorted,” declared Hook, catching up to her with a few long strides. “Especially not a queen.”

“Your chivalry schtick isn’t nearly as charming as you think it is.”

“It is _exactly_ as charming as I think it is.”

Regina ignored him, and concentrated on being as invisible as possible. She knew she wasn’t winning any popularity contests, but hopefully the townspeople would keep in mind that she was on good terms with the Charmings and in desperate need of a lie-down. If that wasn’t enough to prevent a riot…well, she’d brought Hook along for a reason. He’d nearly blown up the town, last they saw him, so if anyone was getting harassed today, it was that slutty pirate.

She made her way toward Neal and Henry, intending to let them know she was going home for a hot shower and a long nap. But she’s barely gotten past, “Hello,” when David interruptedher plans with one of his princely announcements.

“We couldn’t have done it without Regina,” he intoned, his gaze filled with respect and admiration. “She saved us all, more than once.”

“What?”

“ _Her?_ ”

“Never!”

Two thousand pairs of eyes stared at her as the crowd exchanged whispers of astonishment and disbelief. A few feeble attempts at applause dissipated when it was clear that this was _not_ going to be one of those inspirational public spectacles. Regina raised her eyes skyward, silently cursing David and his goddamn nobility.

“Why would she ever help anyone, but herself?” Leroy scowled, arms folded over his broad chest. “She’s the Evil Queen!”

“Oh, blow me,” Regina said witheringly

“It’s the truth!” Snow addressed the crowd, her voice rising with emotion.“She’s not the Evil Queen anymore!” She looked at Regina, her eyes warm and forgiving, a soft smile on her lips. “She’s a hero.”

A thick silence fell like a curtain. For a moment, the world was completely still.

“A hero.” Hook scoffed. “Right. And I’m the bloody Virgin.”

Whether he did it as a favor to her or just to be an ass, Regina wasn’t sure; but she was grateful all the same. Everyone lost interest in staring at her in favor of glaring at Hook, their voices rising in malcontent and accusations.

“Lousy bastard!”

“Double-crossing son of a—”

“ _Pirate!”_

“Everyone says ‘pirate’ like it’s the worst possible insult they can think of,” Hook objected, raising his voice over the cacophony. “I’m embarrassed for all of you.”

“And on that note—” Regina turned back to Neal and Henry as the townsfolk started shouting out insults of varying offensiveness. “People are still a bit, mmm… _uncomfortable_ around me, so I think I’m going to head home. It’s better if I’m not here.”

“You’re leaving?” Henry knit his brow, looking both confused and disappointed. “But what about the party at Granny’s?”

“I’ll sit this one out,” Regina smiled, smoothing back Henry’s hair. He impatiently moved his head out of reach.

“You have to come,” he protested. “Everyone’s finally getting along.”

“Even so,” she shrugged, “I don’t think anyone really wants me there. Not after everything.” _Everything_ , meaning the curse that lasted for 28 years, the reign of cruelty that had preceded it, and the recent plot with her now-dead mother to destroy Storybrooke. She would have swallowed glass before admitting it, but Regina thought the town was right to regard her with suspicion and wariness, considering her track record.

“ _I_ want you there,” Henry insisted. “Please, Mom?”

Regina blinked. _He wanted her there._ Henry had never wanted her for anything: not for the first ten years of his life, and certainly not after he’d found Emma. “I…guess I could stay for a little,” she said finally. “If that’s what you want.”

Henry smiled. “That’s what I want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, it's a bit different. I wrote myself into a corner with the last one, so I wanted to start fresh.


	2. Chapter 2

It was remarkable how many people could fit inside the diner. Every table was full; every seat taken; and all others stood in whatever space was left. Granny must have conjured food out of thin air to feed them all, sending a steady supply of pies and cookies and biscuits out of the kitchen, while Ruby filled mugs with cheap beer.

Meanwhile, Emma had been shaking hands and exchanging smiles with throngs of people, most of whom she’d never spoken to before. It was awkward, to say the least; suffocating, to say a bit more. She was rather starting to resent this whole “hero” business.

“Hey.” Leroy had pushed his way to the front of the crowd, a drunken slur in his speech. It was hard to tell whether he was scowling or smiling. "Congratulations on making it out alive, sister.”

“Thanks, Leroy.” Emma surreptitiously glanced over his head, looking for some escape. Her parents were hovering nearby, laughing with Archie. Regina was standing by Tink (one of the weirder souvenirs they’d brought back from Neverland), having some sort of altercation with Blue. And Neal was—

 _Oh, shit,_ she thought, her heart hammering in her chest. _Why is he coming over here?_

She’d been avoiding him. Every time she saw Neal, her heart sped up and her breathing got shallow and she thought she was going to die _._ It was like there were too many thoughts crammed in her head, pushing against each other, fighting to materialize, spilling into a whirlwind of emotions that she couldn’t begin to decipher. She dreaded seeing him, and yet…there was something about those deep brown eyes and that mischievous smile that made it worth it.

“Hey—” Leroy snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Emma, you having a ’Nam flashback or what?”

 _Something like that_. Emma took in a steadying breath and folded her arms in feigned nonchalance as Neal slowed to a stop, one corner of his mouth ticked up in a grin.

“Hey,” he said; his voice laced with his usual sarcasm as he added, “Bitchin’ party, huh?”

Emma shrugged. “That’s one word for it.”

A glimmer in his front pocket caught her eye, and she could make out the vague outline of his lighter. _Wait…_ Hadn’t he lost it Neverland? It must have been a replacement, although she couldn’t imagine why he would need to replace a lighter unless…

“Are you smoking again?” she frowned.

“What?” Neal laughed nervously, already slipping the lighter out of his pocket. “No, no, this is just for…uh…”

“Lighting up your cancer sticks?” Leroy suggested dryly. “Smoking the Devil’s lettuce—?”

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Neal interrupted, his tone making it clear that Leroy should _find_ somewhere to be. Taking the hint, Leroy grimaced a farewell to Emma and disappeared into the crowd.

“He’s not wrong, you know,” Emma told Neal when he turned back to her. “Smoking kills.”

“It’s only when I’m stressed,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I cut back, like— _way_ back.”

“Really?” Emma raised a skeptical eyebrow. “There are other ways to deal with stress. Ever try yoga?”

“There’s nothing relaxing about yoga,” Neal scoffed. “You have to twist your body into weird, unnatural shapes and pretend it feels good. If anything was going to stress you out…”

Emma rolled her eyes humorously as Neal laughed. “Just don’t let Henry see you,” she told him. “He’s going to end up chain-smoking before he hits the tenth grade.”

“No, I know,” he assured her.

“Okay, well…”

They lapsed into an awkward silence of strained smiles and shifting eyes. Emma tried to think of something to say, looking around herself for inspiration.

“Have you ever—?” she began, just as Neal said, “Can we—?”

Emma smiled awkwardly and shook her head. “Sorry. You go.”

“I was just going to ask you…” Neal awkwardly wrung his hands, as though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. “You think we could make some time to talk?”

 _Talk._ It was such a vague word: heavy with implications, full of hypotheticals. The only safe answer Emma could find was a non-answer: “Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?”

Neal smiled his crooked smile. “Actually, I was thinking just the two of us.” He widened his eyes briefly and jutted his head a fraction of inch to the left, where David and Snow were trying very hard to appear as though they weren’t eavesdropping.

 _Jesus fucking Christ._ Emma exhaled, trying her best to ignore them. “What do you mean, ‘just the two of us’?” she said, keeping her voice low. “Are you trying to ask me on a date?”

“You know, when you put it like that—”

“Neal.” Emma shook her head before he could say anything persuasive. “I just—it’s too—”

“Okay, I’ll make it easy on you,” he cut in. “Tomorrow I’m going to be hungry. Probably around lunchtime. I’m going to sit in that booth, right there—” he pointed over his shoulder at the booth where Henry was sitting now, listlessly flipping through his book of fairy tales—“and if you’re up for it, you can join me. If not, then…” Neal gave a little shrug. “I’ll quit bugging you.”

Emma glanced sideways at her parents, both of whom had gone completely still, listening intently. Even if she could think of something to say, how could she possibly say it, with the two of them right there? “Neal—”

“Just give me a chance, Em.” His voice was quiet, pleading. “At least think about it?”

She looked at him for a long time. Her eyes traced the familiar lines of his face and something akin to heartache pulsed in her chest. She wanted to give him that chance. She wanted him to prove he deserved it. “I’ll think about it.”

Neal smiled again, but didn’t say anything more; drifting away toward Henry’s booth. She watched as he leaned over Henry’s shoulder and pointed in his book, saying something that made Henry laugh. The heartache deepened, and for a moment, Emma had a glimpse of what life would have been like if Phoenix never happened.

“ _So…_ ” Snow and David sidled into view, both of them smiling knowingly. They weren’t even going to pretend they hadn’t been listening.

“Don’t say it,” Emma warned, taking the beer David offered her.

“Don’t say what?” chirped Snow.

“That I owe it to Neal to go on a date with him.” Emma took a sip of the beer, and coughed. _This is some cheap fucking beer._

“You don’t.” Snow’s smile widened. “You owe it to yourself.”

“And you’re involving yourself in things you don’t understand,” Emma said, exasperated. “Look, I’m not taking an opinion poll. This is between me and Neal.” She leaned forward, eyes wide and intent. “Stay _out_ of it.”

“All right.” Snow held up her hands in mock surrender, shrugging. “I won’t say another word.”

“Thank you.”

“ _Except that you deserve a happy ending!_ ” Snow’s words came in a breathless stream before David could stop her, earning a groan from Emma and a weary sigh from David.

“Okay,” he said, putting his hand on Snow’s shoulder, “let’s give Emma some space.”

Snow allowed David to lead her away, beaming at Emma all the while. Once they had left her field of vision, Emma had a clear view of the counter—and the pirate who sat there.

 _This just keeps getting better,_ Emma grimaced. She wasn’t proud of what happened in Neverland between the two of them, but she couldn’t ignore it (much as she tried). The vague-whatever she felt toward Neal was confusing enough, but Hook was a complication she wasn’t willing to deal with.That situation had to be shut down. Stat.

She abandoned her beer on a random table and began weaving her way through the crowd, ignoring the “congratulations” and shoulder claps coming from either side. Hook watched her progress, lazily leaning back in his seat, swilling his beer.

“All right, Swan?” he said when she stepped in front of him.

“I need to talk to you,” she said flatly.

Hook shrugged, lifting his mug to take another sip. “Shoot.”

“Not here.” Emma jerked her head to the empty corner beside the kitchen door, occupied only by the old jukebox. “There.”

He didn’t seem particularly enthused, but he didn’t argue, either. With a roll of his eyes, he set his mug on the counter and swung off the barstool to follow her to the corner.

“This better be important,” he warned her when they reached the jukebox. “If this ends up being something stupid, like ‘you’ve had enough to drink’, I’m going to be _very_ cross with you.” He glanced briefly at the jukebox; then did a double-take, a slight frown on his face. “The hell is this thing?”

“A jukebox, it—” Emma waved her hand impatiently—“plays music or whatever. So, listen—”

“Music?” Hook leaned over the jukebox with newfound interest, tapping the screen delicately with the tip of his hook. “How?” He began pressing random buttons, as if expecting it to play like a piano. “This isn’t working.”

“It’s not an instrument,” Emma explained. “You put a quarter in the coin slot, and then you pick out what song it plays.”

Hook straightened up and held out his hand without looking at her. “Give us a quarter, love.”

“I don’t have one,” she exhaled, her patience wearing thin. “It’s probably broken anyway. Look—”

“Broken?” Ruby, who had been walking with armful of dirty plates to drop in the kitchen, stopped, looking between them. “The jukebox?”

“Aye,” Hook chimed, as Emma frustratedly covered her face with her hands.

“It’s not broken,” Ruby laughed. “Give me a sec, I’ll show you.”

She pushed through the kitchen door, plates clattering in her arms. Hook let out a low whistle as he watched her go, nudging Emma in the ribs.

“Nothing wrong with that, eh, Swan?” he muttered with a roguish grin.

Emma stared at him incredulously, hands still pressed to either side of her face. “You’re kidding, right?"

Hook widened his eyes and put a finger to his lips, just as Ruby strode out of the kitchen. “Okay,” she said, digging in the pockets of her tiny red shorts for change. “I know I have a quarter in here somewhere—damn it—” as the coins fell from her fingers and clattered to the floor.

Hook’s already wide eyes widened further as Ruby bent to retrieve them, unapologetically drinking in the sight of Ruby’s long, lithe body. He looked up at Emma in delight and mouthed, _Holy shit!_

 _You’re disgusting!_ Emma mouthed back. Hook shrugged and returned his gaze to Ruby as she straightened, coins in hand.

“Here we go,” she said, and slid a quarter into the coin slot. The screen lit up, brightly colored letters spelling out song titles that hadn’t been popular since the eighties. “There’s a trick to it,” Ruby told Hook, standing to the side so he could see what she was doing. “First, you have to pick out a song, like….” Her red-taloned fingers hovered indecisively before choosing a Bowie song. “Like this.”

The screen blinked, now displaying the title in large letters: _Heroes._ Ruby pressed the “play” button, and thwacked the side of of the jukebox with the palm of her hand. The opening notes wheezed out, slightly out of tune, until Ruby’s heel slammed against the bottom. The force seemed to shudder the jukebox into life, and _Heroes_ began playing at full volume.

“That’s all there is to it,” Ruby said, raising her voice over the loud music. “You have to kind of beat the shit out of it to get it going, but it should work for a couple songs now.”

“Great,” Emma smiled sarcastically. “Glad we took the time to beat the shit out of a broken jukebox. Thanks, Ruby.”

“Yes, thank you, Ruby,” Hook murmured as Ruby turned her back on them and headed for the counter. He leaned back, elbows resting on the jukebox, still staring after Ruby. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

Emma scoffed. Right. She was really going to stand here and bitch about his _feelings_ for her—the extent of which, she now realized, was how good her ass looked in skinny jeans. “Forget it,” she said, walking past him. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Swan?”

“It’s fine.”

“ _Emma_.”

She stopped. It was disconcerting when Hook used her first name. His voice would lose that edge of humor, and everything was suddenly serious. Reluctantly, she turned around, meeting his quizzical gaze.

“I just…” Emma hesitated, wishing she’d thought out a speech beforehand. She was so used to ignoring it, that acknowledging it out loud was even more difficult than she’d anticipated. She put her hands on her hips and took a deep breath to brace herself. “It’s about Neverland. Like…you and me.”

He stared at her expressionlessly.

“The Echo Caves?” she tried again. “All that stuff you said? About—” she lowered her voice, speaking through her teeth—“you know, your feelings for me?”

He frowned and nodded slightly, as if he wasn’t quite sure what she was talking about, but was willing to play along.

“You remember,” Emma insisted. “You made this whole big speech about how after you lost Milah, you didn’t think you’d be able to find someone else, but after you kissed me—”

“Pretty sure _you_ kissed _me_ , but okay,” he muttered.

“Whatever,” she said impatiently. “The point is, I need you to take all those feelings and lock them down. Forget them, repress them, develop a drug habit to get rid of them—I don’t care. Butyou and me? It’s not going to happen.”

Hook raised his eyebrows. “Is that all?”

Emma blinked. He was either taking this _a lot_ better than she’d thought or she was going to find a bunny boiling in a pot when she got home. “Yeah,” she said. “That’s all.”

“Right. See you later, then.”

He started to walk past her, but Emma stepped in front of him, hands out. “That’s it?” she said incredulously. “That’s all you have to say? _See you later?”_

“What do you want, a bloody soliloquy?” he asked, mystified. “What else is there to say?”

“Well, hell, I don’t know!” she sputtered. “I was expecting you to completely overreact and get all weird and intense! I didn’t expect you to just be _fine_ with it!”

“Shall I start overturning tables?” Hook said dryly. “Shouting curses, challenging Neal to a duel?”

Emma flushed. “Neal doesn’t have anything to do with this,” she began, but Hook was already rolling his eyes and laughing derisively.

“All right, fine— _Neal doesn’t have anything to do with this._ ” The smile faded from his face. “Look, I’m not going to be here much longer, anyway, so it doesn’t matter. As soon as I can get a crew together, I’m leaving, so…” He shrugged, letting the sentence dangle in the air.

Emma stepped back, surprised. “You’re leaving?”

“Probably, yeah,” he said shortly. “Now, if you don’t mind—there’s a _very_ pretty girl behind that counter who needs a drink in her hand.” With that, he swept past Emma, his heavy leather coat making a thick rustling noise.

Emma stared after him in astonishment. She wasn’t going to pretend she was devastated by the news, but still…she’d gotten rather used to having Hook around. It would be marginally sad to see him go.

 _Maybe not_ that _sad,_ she thought, grimacing as he flirted shamelessly with Ruby. He wasn’t much more than an irritant to already tense situations, and his only contributions to society thus far were slutty comments and too much eyeliner. She’d gotten used to his presence the way you get used to a chronic illness: after a time, you forget what life was like without it.

The only thing was…

Hook intended to go back to his life of pirating. So, what about Neal? Was _he_ thinking of leaving, too? He had one very obvious reason to stay: Henry. But then, he’d had a life in New York. A job. An apartment. Friends. What if he wanted to go back? What if that was what he wanted to talk to her about?

Why did that break her heart, just a little?

 _Because you’re acting like a little bitch,_ she told herself sternly. _Toughen the fuck up._ She slapped herself in the face a few times and cleared her throat. _Stone cold. I’m a stone cold bitch._

Across the room, Neal caught her eye and winked.

“Fuck.” Emma gritted her teeth and strode toward the counter, shoving Happy or Dopey or whoever that fuck it was out of her way. “Ruby, get me a goddamn drink. And make it a _real_ drink, not that cheap fucking beer.”

* * *

“I’m sorry, Tinker Bell. You’ll have to make amends and ask for forgiveness before we can accept you back.”

Though she directed her words at Tink, Regina knew that Blue’s judgmental eyes were meant for her. And as for making amends and begging forgiveness…Tink could get on her knees and self-flagellate before the entire fairy community: there was no way Blue would end her banishment.

“Yeah, uh—” Tink frowned, clicking her tongue against the back of her teeth—“I don’t want back in, I just need a place to stay.”

“The abbey is full,” Blue said flatly. “You’ll have to find other accommodations.”

“ _The abbey is full?_ How many nuns you got in this place?”

“Calm down, Tink,” Regina muttered, bracing her hand on the fairy’s shoulder. “We’ll just get you a room at Granny’s. I’ll take care of it.”

Tink glowered at Blue as Regina pulled her away, growling threats under breath. Blue smoothed down her drab skirt and pretended not to hear where Tink planned to stick her crucifix.

“You really shouldn’t say things like that in public,” Regina whispered, steering Tink through the gaggle of scandalized grandmothers. “People are staring.”

“Maybe they’re staring because they like what they see.”

“They’re staring because you sound like a lunatic.” At the counter, she pushed Tink onto a barstool and said, “Wait here.”

“Why?” Tink grunted.

“So I can get us drinks.” Regina leaned forward, frowning as she looked left and right for Ruby. Where was that idiot girl?

Her eyes narrowed when they landed on Ruby dawdling near the jukebox, talking to Hook. _That_ was the holdup? She had to wait for Ruby to finish flirting with that sleazy man-whore before she could get any goddamn service around here? Unacceptable!

Tink groaned, burying her head in her hands. “Regina, where’s that drink?”

“I suppose it depends on the rest of Ruby’s social schedule,” Regina said through her teeth. She tapped her fingers slowly and deliberately on the counter, waiting. A minute passed…two minutes. Her fingers curled, itching to make a fireball—

“ _Oof!”_

Regina gasped as something small and solid collided with her leg. A toddler, she realized, looking down at the small boy with dark, curly hair and enormous brown eyes. He was already cute to the point of absurdity but then, his face split into a grin and she saw the dimples.

“What did you do, walk out of a _Precious Moments_ catalog?” She bent down, forgetting her irritation with Ruby as motherly instincts took over. “Where are your parents, sweetheart?”

The boy smiled shyly and gave a shrug of his shoulders.

“What’s your name?” she tried again

He twirled a finger through his hair, gazing at her wordlessly.

“You gotta give me something to work with, kid,” Regina said, waving her hands. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”

“Roland?” A man’s panicked voice rose over the party noise and seconds later, the owner stumbled into view: a tall, sandy-haired man, who let out a cry when he saw the toddler and dropped to his knees. “Roland, where have you _been?_ You scared me half to death!”

“Daddy!” Roland beamed, throwing his arms out. His father caught him in a tight hug, eyes closed in relief.

“You’ve got to stop doing this to Daddy,” he said wearily. “You’re going to give Daddy serious heart trouble.” He held Roland for a moment, letting out a deep sigh, then opened his eyes. They were a light blue: kind and soft and filled with immeasurable gratitude. “Thank you,” he breathed.

“No trouble.” Regina twitched an awkward smile, dusting off her hands as they both rose to a stand. It was odd: she didn’t recognize father or son, and she was sure she’d met everyone in in the town. “Have I…seen you around town?”

“Not likely. We’ve only been here a few days.” He propped Roland on his hip, so he could hold out his hand. “Robin of Loxley.”

“Regina,” she returned absently, a slight frown creasing her forehead as she tried to grapple with: _We’ve only been here a few days._ There were no casual drop-ins to Storybrooke. It didn’t make sense.

She might have questioned him, if Roland hadn’t decided to start squealing and squirming in his father’s arms, threatening a tantrum. “Uh-oh,” Robin said, with the forced cheerfulness of a parent at the end of their rope, “someone’s up past their bedtime.” He gave Regina a strained smile, wrestling with Roland to keep him upright. “Thank you again.”

“Sure.”

Regina’s smile faded as she watched Robin wend his way through the crowd. He stopped to talk to a large, bushy-haired man, Roland still failing in his arms; then headed out the door. Regina slowly swiveled on her heel and returned to her seat next to Tink, who was slumped over the counter with her arms over her head.

“Thought you ditched me,” she said in a muffled voice as Regina sat down.

“There was a kid running around, I was looking for the father.” She caught Ruby’s eye and snapped her fingers as a summons. Ruby arched her eyebrows and sauntered over, arms folded loosely over her chest.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

“Dry martini, two olives.” She clapped her hand on Tink’s shoulder. “And something strong. She doesn’t care what, so long as it’s not that piss-water you’re trying to peddle as beer.”

Tink slowly raised her head, her hair askew and a dejected look in her eyes. She watched Ruby pour her mystery cocktail into a tall glass. “Put one of the little umbrellas in it,” she said miserably.

Ruby raised her eyebrows, but dunked in a paper umbrella before sliding it over. “Here,” she said. “It’s probably going to taste gross, but it’s definitely strong.”

Tink shrugged and put the straw between her lips. Regina watched cautiously: she was petite—even by fairy standards—and Ruby’s cocktails were known to be lethal. If Tink was going to start vomiting or her liver decided to self-destruct, her pantsuit wasn’t going to suffer for it.

“How is it?” she ventured after a minute.

“I’m not sure.” Tink leaned back, smacking her lips with a thoughtful expression. “It tastes like gasoline and chronic cirrhosis…but I kinda like it.”

Regina lifted a dubious eyebrow.

“It takes the edge off,” Tink decided. “I’m thinking less about knifing that self-righteous bitch and more about napping.” She took another sip, then exhaled in relish. “You wanna try?”

“I’ll pass.” Regina straightened up as Ruby pushed her martini over, a little cocktail straw stuck into one of the olives. She closed her fingers around the stem of the glass, but didn’t raise it to her lips. Her mind was elsewhere.

 _We’ve only been here a few days._ What did that mean? How was it even _possible_? Storybrooke was in between the magic and non-magic realm: a glitch in the folds of the universe. The only way in was through a portal, and those were too rare to just _happen_ upon.

But it wasn’t just his circumstances, it was the man himself. There was something about that name: _Loxely…_ She couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe her memory was suffering lack of sleep; maybe she was completely high; but Regina could swear that she’d met Robin before.

“Regina.” Tink’s stern voice interrupted her thoughts. “I feel like I’m drowning my sorrows alone here. Are you going to talk to me or not?”

Regina side-eyed her wearily. “Do I have a choice?”

“Of course.” Tink smiled so sweetly, it was unnerving. “I mean, you only ruined my life and got me banished to Neverland, so I guess you’re right. Asking you to pretend to have compassion for ten minutes is really overstepping—”

“Oh, my God, _fine,_ ” Regina said loudly. She shot Tink a sour look. “How long are you going to hold that over my head?”

“Only until we’re good-enough friends that I don’t have to guilt you into hanging out with me,” Tink shrugged.

Regina stared at her, eyes narrowed incredulously. “You’re going to coerce friendship out of me?”

“If I have to.” Tink took a careful sip, and dabbed the corner of her lips with a napkin. “You blew up my island, so I’m kind of stranded here. And from what I can tell…” She twisted around in her seat, casting her sweeping gaze over the townsfolk. “It’s like a weird cult, this town. They’re not going to accept an outsider without an insider’s endorsement.”

“They don’t even accept insiders,” Ruby scoffed, inviting herself into the conversation as she gathered empty mugs for refills. “They tried to burn me at the stake a few months ago.”

“Thank you for your input,” Regina said, raising a hand against Ruby’s comments. “Should we ever require the sage advice a slutty werewolf, we’ll know who to call. Tink, listen to me,” she added, ignoring the fact that Ruby’s green eyes were suddenly yellow, slit-pupiled, and glowering at her. “I’m kind of on the outs with this town, so maybe you’d have better luck if you made friends with David and Snow—maybe Emma.”

“Yeah, but you’re the queen,” Tink said, nonplussed. “Just _make_ them accept you.”

Regina smiled and shook her head. “Doesn’t work like that.”

Tink stared at her. “…Then _make_ it work like that.”

“I can’t.” Regina sat back, letting out a little sigh of resignation. “I promised Henry. I’m not the Evil Queen anymore. I have to act like it.”

“Great,” Tink said with a bitter smile, taking her glass in hand. “Your redemption journey is really giving it to me in the ass, but really—this is great.”


	3. Chapter 3

Snow closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of the lunchtime rush: the _hiss_ and sizzle of burgers on the grill as the kitchen staff shouted orders to each other; silverware clattering against plates and tall glasses being poured; small children crying while harried parents tried to quiet them.

“I’ve missed this,” she sighed, pouring a hazelnut creamer in her coffee. Across from her, David looked up from his sandwich, brow crinkled.

“What, diner coffee?” he asked around a mouthful of tuna.

“No, I mean—” Snow waved her hand vaguely—“ _this_. The boring stuff. Getting lunch, drinking coffee, taking a walk…” She shook her head, unwrapping another creamer. “It’s nice not to worry about people constantly trying to kill you.”

David frowned, reaching for his water. “I thought you liked the adventure.”

“I do,” Snow shrugged. “But I also like wearing fuzzy socks and knitting in bed.”

“You don’t _knit_ ,” David laughed.

“Mary Margaret Blanchard was a very bored, very lonely schoolteacher. You bet your ass, she knits.” She smiled over her cup, resting her elbows on the table. “You’re getting a hat.”

David leaned forward to say something, but Snow stopped listening as her eyes fell on the next table, where Neal was sitting alone. He frowned at his cup, turning it between his fingers without taking a sip; then looked out the window with searching eyes. Disappointment sunk Snow’s heart, and she sighed, shaking her head.

“What?” David’s smile faded. “I was just kidding, Snow—I’ll wear the hat.”

“No, that’s—” Snow stopped, giving him a stern look. “Of course, you’re going to wear the hat.”

“That’s what I just said.” He sat back, an apologetic look in his eyes as he picked up his fork again. “If I knew it was going to upset you this much…”

“I’m not upset,” she said quietly. “I’m just disappointed.”

David dropped his fork with a clatter and gave her an exasperated look.

“Not in you.” Snow pitched her voice lower. “Emma didn’t listen to us.”

David’s brow twitched. “What do you mean?”

“Behind you,” she muttered. “Don’t look.”

“Why? What’s behind me?”

“Neal. Poor thing, look at him in his sad little sweater— _don’t look!_ ” she hissed as David turned his head.

“You told me to look at his sweater!” David whispered back.

“I didn’t mean, _look_ look—!”

Shefroze as Neal’s frown deepened and he looked over, eyes narrowed in suspicion. _Oh, shit,_ she thought as he caught her eye, slowly pointing at her. _Please don’t have heard us, please don’t have heard us—_

“Are you guys talking about me?” he asked.

“No!” Snow said quickly, humiliation heating her cheeks. “I-I mean—kind of. Yes? A little.” Her words tumbled out faster than she gave them permission, going rogue, without thought. “I was just admiring your sweater. I—I knit, you know? Big knitter, _huge_ knitter.”

Neal raised his eyebrows.

“I’m making David a hat,” she added desperately. “Do you want a hat, Neal?”

He looked at her for a long time, as if trying to decide exactly how sane she was. “…I’m good.”

“Okay.”

An awkward silence fell, both of them still staring at the other. Snow sipped her coffee as an excuse to break eye contact, and Neal tore his napkin into little shreds; but the silence stretched on. Was the conversation over? Should she find something else to say? Were they just going to pretend this hadn’t happened?

“More coffee?”

“Oh, thank God,” Snow breathed as Ruby came around, carrying a carafe of fresh coffee. She held out her cup when Ruby reached her table, even though she’d barely taken two sips.

“How’s everything, guys?” Ruby chirped in her fake-customer-service voice.

“Everything’s great,” David said as Snow murmured an agreement.

“Great…” Ruby checked over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening; then turned back to Snow, smiling conspiratorially. “So, when are we going out for a girls’ night?”

Snow blinked, startled by…well, by what a _normal_ question that was. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d made social plans instead of battle plans. “A girls’ night?” she repeated, somewhat dazed.

“Yeah, it’ll be fun!” Ruby squealed. “We’ll go to the Rabbit Hole, get drunk, talk about—” her eyes flickered to David—“you know, girl stuff. What do you think?”

“I don’t know, Ruby,” Snow winced. “I think I’m going to need at least a week to decompress. Plus, with everything Emma’s going through…I don’t know, I feel like I need to be there for her.”

Ruby knit her brow. “What, is she sick?”

“She’s—” Snow lifted her menu, so Neal wouldn’t see her pointing in his direction— “ _dealing with things.”_

Ruby opened her mouth in dawning comprehension. “ _Ohhh…”_

“Yeah.” Snow dropped the menu, heaving a sigh. “I’m on call for emotional support until things settle, and I don’t know how long that will take, so—”

“Okay, what about this?” Ruby set the carafe down and squeezed into David’s side of the booth, forcing him to make room for her. “We’ll take Emma with us. Some drinks, a game of darts—it’s a perfect way to take her mind off everything.”

Snow scrunched her nose. “I don’t think she’s really the ‘ _girls’ night_ ’ type. She doesn’t have a lot of female friends.”

“She doesn’t have a lot friends, _period,_ ” Ruby corrected. “That’s probably why she’s so tense.”

“I think there’s more to it than that,” David ventured, watching Ruby pull apart one of his fries. “Being the Savior is a lot of responsibility.”

“Yeah, when there’s things to save,” she shrugged. “But, like, all the villains are either dead or playing nice, so…” Her mascara-heavy eyes darted between the two of them, taking measure of their apprehensive expressions. “What?”

“I don’t think Emma’s ready to put her guard down,” Snow said, looking to David as he nodded in affirmation. “She’s still getting over believing in monsters _at all,_ let alone believing they’re gone.”

“She falls asleep with her gun under pillow,” David added. “Like she’s waiting for an attack.”

“Sounds like she needs to relax.” Ruby grinned, leaning forward as she pitched her voice lower. “ _Magic brownies…”_

Snow narrowed her eyes. “You are _not_ giving my daughter magic brownies.”

“I could go for brownies,” David mused.

“It’s not that kind of brownie,” Snow said witheringly.

Ruby snorted, sliding out of the booth and brushing out the wrinkles in her tiny apron. “I have to get back to work,” she announced, her eyes still gleaming devilishly as she reached for the carafe. “I’ll come by after my shift tomorrow, bring some _welcome-home_ presents.”

“Ruby…” Snow warned.

Ruby raised her eyebrows enticingly; then whirled around, her ponytail swinging energetically as she bounced between tables. David bemusedly stared after her, then slowly turned back to Snow.

“Am I missing something?” he asked, jutting his thumb in Ruby’s direction.

“Oh, David—” Snow began exasperatedly; but then her eyes fell on the empty table behind, a few crumpled bills and an abandoned cup of coffee where Neal had been. _Damn it,_ she cursed. How long had she been arguing with Ruby about brownies that she didn’t even notice him leaving?

“What’s wrong?” David frowned, seeing the look on her face.

“Neal’s gone,” Snow said dully. “Emma stood him up.”

David glanced over his shoulder, and turned back to Snow with a regretful sigh. “Maybe she just wasn’t—”

A clatter from the back interrupted him, followed by the squeaking of rusty hinges and the flimsy wooden door being shouldered open. A few heavy footsteps—a coat rustling—

Snow’s eyes widened as a windswept Emma, red-cheeked and out of breath, strode into view. Emma gave a nod of greeting as she walked further in, her gaze searching.

“Hey,” she said with chattering teeth. She pulled off her beanie, static electricity sending a halo of frizzled golden strands over her head. “You guys seen Neal?”

“Neal?” Snow echoed.

“Yeah. Neal.” Emma raised an eyebrow. “You know—looks like Henry after twenty years of cigarettes and coffee?”

“Yeah,” David said, staring at her. “He left.”

Emma’s eyes snapped toward him. “He _left?”_

“He left!”

“That bastard,” she said incredulously, dropping into a chair. “I can’t believe he left.”

“Uh—” Snow frowned, exchanging a quick look with David—“I’m pretty sure he waited for you, Emma. But you never showed.”

“What do you mean, I never showed? I’m here, aren’t I?” Emma folded her arms, glowering at the tips of her boots as though they were personally responsible for Neal’s absence. “So, I needed a little time—is that a crime?” She slapped the sheriff’s badge on her belt with a derisive laugh. “ _Nope!”_

“Time for what?” David asked bemusedly. “Where _were_ you?”

Emma looked at the ceiling, slightly shaking her head. “I don’t know,” she exhaled. “I was walking to Granny’s, and then I saw Neal’s car and I…I just kept walking. Ended up somewhere in the woods.” She flicked her eyes sideways. “I saw a deer.”

“Okay.” Snow blinked, uncertain as to what this had to do with avoiding Neal. “How was that?”

“Cute,” Emma shrugged. “Until the arrow pierced its eye.”

“Until the— _what_?”

“Yeah, I think we got some squatters in the woods,” Emma said in her sheriff voice, looking at David. “I saw a couple campsites. Pretty sure they’re poaching, but I’d have to double-check the hunting laws.”

“We should check it out,” David nodded. “Tomorrow, though. I still have to go by Gold’s shop and get my dreamshade antidote.”

“Cool,” Emma said, as though she weren’t really listening. Her eyes were fixed on the empty table, where Neal’s coffee cup still sat, growing cold. Snow bit her lip, wondering if she should say something reassuring or if it was better to stay quiet and let Emma pretend she was okay. It was too hard to tell the right thing to do, when it came to Emma. Was she relying too much or too little on her motherly instincts?

“I should go,” Emma announced, interrupting Snow’s internal conflict with the sounds of her chair scraping back and her boots firmly hitting the floor. “I wanted to check out the town line. A couple kids told me there’s a forcefield across, so I want to see what happens when I throw rocks at it.”

“Sure,” Snow said, unsurprised—if a bit disappointed—by her daughter’s coping mechanism. _Repress and aggress_ was Emma’s tried and true, and clearly, that wasn’t changing any time soon. “Keep us updated.”

“Yeah, okay.” Emma didn’t look at either of them as she tugged on her beanie. She glanced at Neal’s table once more, before stalking past it, determinedly apathetic. The door slammed shut behind her, startling a squeak out of Ruby. Snow vaguely wondered whether there was actually a forcefield or if Emma just wanted an excuse to throw something.

“She’ll be okay,” David said, reading the concern on her face. “She wasn’t ready to talk to him. Maybe it’s better for her to put it off, until she is.”

Snow looked at him anxiously. “You really think so?”

“When she wants to, she’ll find him.” A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “It’s the family legacy.”

* * *

A flower shop.

An ice cream parlor.

A wedding boutique.

Hook curled his lip, eyeing all of the kitschy shops down Main Street with loathing. _God._ Why did everything in this town have to be so… _cute?_

Streamers still hung in the windows of Granny’s diner, leftover from the party the night before. A sad, half-deflated balloon danced around one of the outside tables, tugging half-heartedly at the string. A perfectly pathetic metaphor for the perfectly pathetic town; its patrons barely clinging to their identities as they tried to pretend their mediocre lives were still worth living.

 _He had to get the hell out of here._

Pirates did not belong in small towns, particularly when the pirate in question had thoroughly embarrassed himself by a brief alliance with Clan Hero. It was time for Hook to find a portal, gather his crew, and fucking _leave._ Before his reputation suffered any more damage.

Tracking down William Smee was the first step. “A procurer of hard-to-find objects”, as he’d introduced himself; but Smee was proving to be a hard-to-find object himself. Hook had spent the better part of the morning prowling the streets, spreading varying descriptions townwide:

“Have you seen a sniveling coward with rat eyes and a weak chin?”

“Do you know a squirrelly man— long in the waist, but short in stature?”

“I’m looking for a little fat guy with a red hat—seen him?”

He ended up promising rum to the group of teenagers smoking near the town line in exchange for delivering Smee to his ship by the end of the day. “ _Alive,_ ” he added, suspiciously eying the leader (who reminded him too much of his sixteen-year-old self to be trustworthy). “I need him able to see, speak, and hear.”

“Sure thing, mister,” the kid grinned.

With the little scofflaws hunting his first mate, Hook moved onto Step Two: finding a portal. It really should have been Smee’s job, but the busier he kept, the less time he had to focus on the growing possibility that he was stranded in this cramped, colorless town.

The general consensus was that there _weren’t_ any portals left; but that couldn’t be true. Those forest men were definitely new, they hadn’t been here last time he was in Storybrooke. If there was a way in, there was a way out. And Hook would bet his last drop of rum that Rumplestiltskin knew it.

The pawnshop was tucked away in a shadowy part of town, a stone’s throw from the seedy Rabbit Hole. Hook let out a slow breath as his eyes ran over the golden words emblazoned in the sign: _Mr. Gold: Pawnbroker & Antiquities Dealer._

“Can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered. Attempting civility with the Dark One… Good God, had it really come to this?

Before he could talk himself out of it, he grasped the handle and pushed open the door. The little bell rang cheerily, announcing his presence to the empty shop. Hook frowned, taking a few cautious steps forward, his eyes sweeping the room.

“Hello?” he called. “Anyone in here?”

“I’ll be with you in a moment!” a girl’s voice rang out.

Hook froze. _Shit._

He recognized that voice, just as he recognized the petite brunette who clip-clopped in from the back room on ludicrously tall heels. She didn’t look up right away: her hands were full, juggling a stack of papers and books that were clearly too heavy for her.

“Sorry,” she said in a strained voice. “Rumple’s working on a dreamshade antidote right now, and he’s gone and pulled out all his potion records. I’m trying to reorganize— _oh, damn it all to hell!_ ”—as the stack fell from her arms and a hurricane of papers flew up around her. Belle dropped to her knees, cursing under her breath as she gathered the fallen papers.

 _I should help her,_ Hook mused, even though he had no intention of doing that. Because seriously—who was he trying to impress?

“I’ve been at this all day,” she sighed, her voice echoing slightly as she reached under the desk. “I don’t know how he finds anything in here, it’s so disorganized…”

“Right,” Hook murmured absently, squinting at the various pages scattered around him. Some of them looked quite old, written with quill and ink; others were newer, printed with a scroll that was too straight and uniform to be done by a human. Half of them were in languages he didn’t recognize, and the other half seemed to be scrawled by a madman. Hook frowned, picking up what seemed to be a recipe: _One part baby’s breath, two parts mother’s tears, a dash of paprika. Mix until smooth. Top with fruit of choice._

“The fuck…?” he muttered.

“So—” Belle emerged from under the desk, her arms full of mismatched papers—“did you need to talk to Rumple or is there something I could help you—?”

Her eyes widened. She dropped the pages, sending a second flurry of potion recipes and records into the air; hardly noticing as she stared at Hook, breathing unevenly.

“ _You_ ,” she whispered.

Hook tried for a winning smile. “The one and only.”

She slammed her hands on the desk, hard enough to make it rattle; growling as she leaned forward: _“Get. Out._ ”

“I just need a minute, love.” He glanced around, rather hoping the sound of his voice would draw Rumplestiltskin out, however furiously. “I don’t suppose the Crocodile’s around?”

“He’s not to be disturbed,” Belle said coldly, glaring at him. “So unless you want David to die from dreamshade poisoning—”

“Well, then maybe you can help me,” he cut in.

“Maybe. But I won’t.” Belle pointed at the door. “ _Leave._ ”

“Yes, that’s why I’m here,” said Hook, somewhat impatiently. “So I _can_ leave.”

Belle’s brow twitched, her fury slipping into confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“A portal,” he said bluntly. “I’m in the market, looking for whatever can get me and _The Jolly Roger_ out of Storybrooke.”

“A portal?” she echoed, raising a dubious eyebrow.

“Aye.”

“You really thought you could just drop by the store, pick up some grapes and a portal, and be on your merry way?”

“I never said anything about grapes,” Hook frowned.

“There aren’t any portals _left,_ you idiot,” she hissed, as though he hadn’t spoken. “Maybe you don’t remember, but a couple weeks ago, there was this whole magic-bean-fiasco that ended with a guylinered sociopath taking the last one and trying to run off with it. _That_ was the last portal.”

Hook sniffed. “Well, I don’t know who this guylinered sociopath is, but he sounds terribly handsome.”

Belle gave him a withering look. “Okay, really—go home.”

“That’s the point!” he insisted, following her as she strode away from desk and headed toward the coat rack. “I’m _trying_ to get home! That’s why I need the portal!”

“Sounds a lot like _not-my-problem_ ,” she shrugged, flipping her hair out of the prim blue coat she’d bundled into.

“But it _is_ your problem, because otherwise, I’m stuck here. You’ll have to see me every day—you might even have to talk to me! Belle—” he exasperatedly reached out with his hook, catching her around the elbow to turn her around. Her eyes widened as he tugged her closer, looking at her desperately. “Please. You have to help me. There’s got to be something in that bloody library of yours.”

Belle bit her lip. “Okay,” she said after a minute. “There might be _one_ thing.”

Hook choked; he could have cried from relief.

“It might be in here,” she mused, rummaging carefully in her coat pocket. “Unless I left it in my other coat? Oh, wait, here it is…” She slowly pulled out her hand…

…just to give him the finger.

Hook looked at her for a long time. “That was really funny,” he said quietly.

She gave him a smug smile, and whirled around, throwing her scarf over her shoulder with a flair. Hook made an exasperated noise, and darted after her as she sailed out the door.

“Come on!” His boots thudded on the pavement behind her delicate high-heels. “You’re seriously not going to help me?”

“Couldn’t if I wanted to,” she called over her shoulder. “I told you, there’s no more portals.”

“B-b-but the Dark One!” Hook sputtered, gesturing wildly at the shop. “He’s got all kinds of magic! Can’t he just—I dunno— _make_ one?”

“ _Make_ a portal?” Belle turned around, so abruptly he almost collided with her. “Do you have any idea how stupid you sound?”

“An inkling,” he muttered grudgingly.

She rolled her eyes and started walking again, apparently not caring that Hook kept step with her. “Look, I don’t know what to tell you,” she exhaled. “It’s not ideal for any of us, but maybe you should start getting used to the idea of small-town life.”

He snorted. “Yeah. That’s going to happen.”

“I’m serious,” she said, casting a sideways glance at him. “You’re not the first person who’s wanted to go home. _Everyone_ has, at one point or another. But the reality is…” She waved her hand at their general surroundings. “This. This is the new reality.”

Hook came to a dead-stop, an icy chill stealing into his heart, freezing the blood in his veins. He looked around, breathing unevenly, as Belle’s words echoed in his head: _This is the new reality_. The town no longer looked like quaint and tranquil; now, the mom-and-pop shops seemed to loom over him, the cheerful signage sinister and twisted; the wintry breeze a cloud of toxic gas.

Belle turned, walking backwards for a moment; smirking at the horrified look on his face. “Welcome to Storybrooke, Captain,” she said, spreading her arms wide. “Try not to blow it up this time.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and the kudos and the general support...it does things to my heart. Good things, I mean.

Night had come to Storybrooke, like a black curtain drawn across the sky; the only light coming from the tiny pinpricks of stars and the crescent moon behind the clouds. A general _hush_ had settled over the town, so that even the gentle breeze faded away, lest it disturb the sleeping residents.

It was so peaceful.

So silent.

So still.

“ _Who can sleep like this?_ ”

Neal frustratedly threw his pillow across the room and pushed his fingers through his hair, eyes squeezed shut. Where were the sirens and car horns and angry voices? Where were all the _lights?_ Maybe New York was a crime-ridden cesspool of narcissists and scumbags, but _fuck—_ at least it had a pulse!

He grabbed his jacket and a pair of shoes, ignoring the fact that it was three o’clock in the morning and a _highly_ unreasonable time to go for a walk. What did he care? He wasn’t getting any sleep tonight, with or without that sweet city noise.

Because—even as he tried to steer his thoughts away, tried to tell himself it didn’t—Neal kept thinking about Emma. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he’d really thought she was ready to give him a chance. To explain—or at least, update his apology. _Hey, Emma, sorry that my grandfather turned out to be a psychotic teenager who kidnapped our son and tried to kill us all. Won’t happen again._

He stepped outside, shivering slightly from the wintry air. It smelled like snow and the smoky scent of night. Definitely an improvement over the city, he grudgingly admitted, because New York smelled like greasy food, gasoline, and urine. Score one for Storybrooke.

His boots left prints in the light dusting of snow over the sidewalk as he walked past the auto shop…the drugstore…Henry’s school…It was impossible to get lost in a town as small as this, but the buildings were starting to blur together and Neal was focusing less on where he was going and more on avoiding Emma-centric thoughts. He’d promised himself, he wasn’t going to dwell on it, but here he was: dwelling on it.

It wasn’t until he nearly slipped on the damp wooden planks that he realized he’d walked himself to the docks. The air was thicker here, almost murky with the smell of fish and seaweed, chased with salt. As good a place as any to neurotically analyze the “Emma” situation.

With a sigh, he dropped onto a bench and dug into his pocket for his lighter. Putting a cigarette between his teeth, he cupped his hand around it to keep the wind from dousing the flame. The end glowed red, a thin ribbon of smoke curling into the cold night air. Neal leaned back and closed his eyes to savor it.

“Thought you were going to quit.”

Neal jumped, snapping his eyes open to see an extremely pissed-off blonde standing over him. “Jesus _Christ,_ Emma!” he choked, coughing out a cloud of smoke, his heart still going a hundred miles a minute. “What the— _where did you even come from?_ ”

“I was doing a patrol,” Emma said flatly, her thumbs hooked into her pockets. “Saw some weirdo walking around in the dead of night, so I followed him. To the docks, of all places.” She twisted around, giving the surroundings a bewildered look before turning back to Neal. “Why the docks?”

“Are we just not going to talk about the fact that you nearly gave me a heart attack?” Neal sputtered.

“Sorry,” Emma said, not sounding sorry at all. She gestured at the bench. “May I?”

“I mean…yeah, I guess…?”

He stared at her as she sat down, still not entirely convinced she was real and not a hallucination. Emma rubbed her hands together and let out a shuddering breath.

“Cold, huh?” she said. “And late.” She turned her head to look at him, eyes narrowed curiously. “Why are you out here so late, Neal?”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a perp,” he scoffed.

“You have to admit, it’s _pretty_ suspicious to be walking around town this late at night, in this weather.” She clicked her teeth. “Got to be a reason.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Neal spread his arms, giving her a sarcastic smile. “You find that suspicious, too?”

“Maybe,” she replied evenly. “Depends on why you couldn’t sleep. Could be because you skipped your cup of warm milk, could be because you were hiding a body.”

“Hiding a body?” he echoed, raising his eyebrows. “Not really my M.O, Sheriff.”

“Then maybe guilt was keeping you up,” Emma said swiftly. “Guilt for knowing something you shouldn’t, obstructing justice…” She folded her arms and leaned back, her eyes on the rippling gray ocean. “For ditching me today.”

“Ditching you?” Neal frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about: ‘ _Hey, Emma—if you’re hungry and I’m hungry, let’s talk at the diner’!_ ” She rolled her eyes at his bewildered expression and scoffed. “Look, I don’t remember exactly what you said, it was probably a lot more charming. Point it, I showed up, and you weren’t there.”

“At the diner?” He stared at her incredulously. “I sat there for three hours, so unless you were _invisible—”_

“No, I wasn’t _invisible,_ ” she said witheringly. _“_ I was late. I’m pretty much the only law enforcement this town has, it’s not like I have a lot of time for lunch dates.”

“Yeah, except…” Neal tilted his head, a shrewd smile on his face. “It wasn’t a _date,_ Em.”

She slit her eyes. “Don’t try to get cute with me, Cassidy. You know what I mean.”

“All right, whatever…”

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the wind whistling through the trees and the crashing waves. Neither, it seemed, wanted to be the first to speak; though the air hung heavy with unspoken questions. Neal tapped the ash off his cigarette. Emma twirled her swan pendant. Another minute ticked by, without a word.

It would have been easier if it was an awkward silence: they could have just abruptly changed the subject or pretended there was some emergency to tend to. But it was worse than awkward. It was thick, like molasses, keeping them both rooted to the spot and holding their breath.

“You could have texted, you know,” Neal said finally. “I would have turned around, come back.”

Emma let out a slow breath and folded her fingers together, but said nothing.

“I honestly thought you didn’t want to talk to me,” he continued. “And I didn’t want to be _that_ guy, and try to push you into doing something you didn’t want to do…But, Em, we got to talk eventually. There’s certain things we have to figure out, and the only that’s going to get done is if we sit down and just…you know, take care of it.”

“I know,” she exhaled, not looking at him. “That’s why I was late today.” She twisted the pendant around her finger: a gesture he’d come to recognize as a sign of anxiety. “There’s questions that I’m not sure I want answered.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, New York.” Emma dropped her necklace and looked at him, her eyes darting between his. “You’ve got a life there, Neal. But Henry’s _here._ And I know you want to stay in his life, but what about your other life? What about your job?” She flurried her arms. “What even _is_ your job?”

“Eh—” he shrugged—“it’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“No, really. What’s your job?”

“Really. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, so— we’re definitely going to talk about this later, because you’re acting really shady right now.”

“Shady?” Neal laughed. “Calm down, Em. It’s nothing _illegal.”_

Emma narrowed her eyes. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You just lied again.”

Neal hesitated.“Okay, maybe there were some areas of questionable legality.”

“Neal!”

“It’s not important, okay?” he said dismissively, avoiding her indignant gaze.“It’s part of my old life, and as far as that goes…”

Goddamn it, he missed the city. The lights, the noise, the constant energy. The barely-contained anger and intense pride every New Yorker walked around with, looking for fights and coffee and the thrill of everyday survival. It was beautiful chaos…

…that he was somehow willing to trade for a small, wholesome, saccharine town, if it meant being closer to Emma and Henry.

“I’ve already turned the page on New York,” Neal exhaled. “Henry’s here, you’re here. And it’s not like I can go back to work and say, ‘Sorry, boss—got caught up in Neverland, you can take it out of my sick days’.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying…?”

“Yeah. I’m staying in Storybrooke.” He closed his eyes, giving his head a little shake.“Literally one of stupidest names you could give a town—”

“Says the man who grew up in a place professionally referred to as _The Enchanted Forest,_ ” she said dryly.

“Believe me. You don’t want to know what the professional name is.”

Emma gave him an exasperated look. “Well, _now_ I do, when you say it like that.”

“Are you sure?” Neal grinned. “It’s embarrassing for you, too, Emma. It’s your heritage.”

“Just tell me,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “It can’t be _that_ bad.”

“Misthaven.”

“Mist—?” She recoiled, looking at him incredulously. “ _Misthaven?_ Seriously?”

“Am I lying?”

She studied him for a minute, her gaze scrutinizing, her lips still pulled in a grimace. Neal coughed to hide his laughter, but he couldn’t help smiling. He could practically hear her turning the name over and over in her head, retching at the flowery cuteness of it all.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered, earning a snort from Neal. “I mean— _Misthaven_? It sounds like something populated with tap-dancing chipmunks.”

“When I was a kid, it was more like tap-dancing ogres, but the concept transcends.”

“So—” Emma cocked her head in mock-thought—“these Ogre Wars I keep hearing about…I’m picturing a really intense dance-off.”

“That’s exactly what happened.”

“I knew it.”

The snow was starting to pick up now, falling from the sky like white feathers and coating the docks in a soft blanket of snow. Emma pushed her hands in her pockets and bundled her coat tighter around her.

“Come on,” she said, nudging Neal. “I’ll give you a ride back.”

“Thanks.”

She lead the path down the walkway to the small thicket of trees she had parked her yellow Bug next to. The keys jingled between her fingers as she unlocked the doors. She’d kept it in a good shape, Neal reflected approvingly as he settled into the passenger seat. No scratches, no dents; the leather seats were smoothed and clearly cared for.

“I always liked this car,” he remarked as she turned the key in the ignition. “I’m glad you kept it.”

Emma stopped. Neal’s smile faded as she released the key, the engine dying down.

“Em?” he frowned, watching as she sat back with a heavy sigh. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I just…” She pushed a hand through her hair, closing her eyes wearily. “Can we real-talk, for a sec?”

“Yeah,” Neal said, confused. He backtracked through his words, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong—what he’d said. “Did I do something?”

Emma shook her head slightly. “It’s just this car,” she said in a low voice. “I kept it for the same reason I kept my key chain.” Her fingers closed over the swan pendant at her neck, almost protectively. “They reminded me of you. The good stuff, but…but the other stuff, too.”

Neal stiffened. “Emma…”

“Look, I’m glad that you’re staying in Storybrooke, okay?” she said, her eyes pleading for understanding. “Henry needs a dad, and I can already tell, you’re going to be good for him to have around. And me, well…” She smiled faintly, half-heartedly punching his arm. “You’re always going to be important to me.”

 _And here’s where it all goes south_ , Neal thought, already bracing himself. “But…?”

Emma’s smile faded. “But there’s a lot I haven’t gotten over,” she said. “As much as I want to, I can’t trust you. Not yet, anyway.” She bit her lip, finishing in a small voice, “I can’t be one of your reasons to stay.”

Neal looked down at his hands, her words reverberating through his mind. He wasn’t sure how to respond. Should he just nod and smile regretfully? Should he say, _I understand,_ and let an awkward silence take over?

Fuck, there were a lot of feelings involved here.

And Neal had never been good with feelings.

If there was a correct response here, he didn’t know it.

So he just said what he was thinking:

“Tough shit, Em.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “I’m sorry?”

“I said, tough shit.” He raised his head, looking her dead in the eye. “Look, I’m not asking you to be my girlfriend. I’m not even asking you to be my friend. But you _are_ a reason to stay.”

Emma blinked several times, as if struggling to absorb his words. “Neal—”

“And I _get_ it, okay?” Neal interrupted. “My dad is…I want to trust him, you know? I want things to be okay between us, but there’s a lot I can’t forgive right now. And if that’s where you’re at with me…” He sighed, giving a little shrug. “Then I can’t blame you. But I’m here, as whatever you want me to be.”

She seemed to be waiting for something. The last grand line of a-not-so-grand speech, perhaps. A final plea. Something poetic, full of meaning and bittersweet irony?

It was times like these he rather envied Hook. The man could whip out monologues like a Shakespearean villain.

“That’s it, that’s all I got,” Neal exhaled, sitting back. “I’m not sure what else to say here, I didn’t have anything prepared.”

“Clearly.” Emma turned the key in the ignition, revving the engine back to life. “ _Tough shit, Em,_ ” she muttered scoffingly, shaking her head. “Really? _Tough shit, Em?_ ”

“I told you, I didn’t have anything prepared,” he shrugged as she pulled onto the road.

“You couldn’t think of something a _little_ more graceful than ‘tough shit, Em’?”

“Not like _that,_ ” he said with a snap of his fingers. “It wasn’t supposed to be a spoken-word performance, I just said what was in my head.”

Emma flicked her eyes, as though she didn’t approve of his lack of preparation, but said nothing. Neal side-eyed her warily.

“So…I know we’re not _good_ good, but are we good?”

“This is the laziest speech I’ve ever heard.”

“Okay, it’s four o’clock in the morning, give me a break.”

“Fine.” Emma glanced over, raising an eyebrow. “You want to give this ‘friends’ thing a go?”

Neal nodded, shrugging. “I’m down for that.”

“All right, then.” She turned her eyes back to the road, hands braced tightly on the steering wheel. “I guess we’re friends.”

“Cool.”

_Friends._

He could work with that. It was more than he’d expected, though not as much as he hoped for. But friends…friends could be enough.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. Took me a while to crank this one out because it's sorta the intro for one of the main ships, and I wanted to get it right. Plus I got things like grad school and a healing broken shoulder to organize, so it stole some of my concentration. Comments are always appreciated you guys!! Love you much -Z-

Regina prodded the scrambled eggs with a spatula, adding a sprinkle of pepper. “Henry!” she called, reaching over to set the toaster. “Breakfast!”

The bright winter sunlight streaming through the window and the wafting smells of fresh coffee and burnt butter lent a homey atmosphere that heralded the return to normalcy. It felt like a typical school morning—save for the bad-tempered fairy seated at her kitchen table, flipping through the newspaper.

“Explain to me why Archie Hopper’s _blooming petunia garden_ is newsworthy?” Tink scoffed.

“Because,” Regina said, pouring a cup of coffee, “when we’re not trying to kill each other, Storybrooke is extraordinarily—”

“Dull?”

“Wholesome.” Regina checked her watch and let out an exasperated breath. “Henry, hurry up! Neal’s going to be here in ten minutes!”

“Neal?” The newspaper snapped down as Tink looked up, frowning. “Why’s Neal coming over here?”

“He’s going to walk Henry to school.” Regina forced a smile. “Isn’t that nice?”

However much she agreed with Emma that Henry needed some sort of father figure, it didn’t make sharing her son any easier. If Regina had her way, she’d be walking Henry to school every morning and tucking him in every night. But, alas, she did not have her way; and was instead looking at a messy joint-custody situation that now involved three people.

Still…compared to the “messy situations” she’d been dealing with over the past few weeks, coordinating pick-up schedules was a welcome change.

The familiar sound of Henry’s footsteps pummeling the stairs stopped her from calling his name a third time. She had just set his plate down when he skidded into view, his hair disheveled and shirt untucked.

“Sorry,” he said breathlessly, letting his backpack drop off his shoulders with a _thud!_ “Couldn’t find my other shoe.”

“This is why I say—” Regina began; then realized she didn’t have time to deliver a lecture on the importance of organization and shook her head, saying, “All right, whatever. Just eat before your eggs get cold.”

Henry stepped over his backpack to pull out a chair, giving Tink a strange look as he sat down. She didn’t seem to notice: she was too busy chuckling over the personal ads.

“You know you’re really scraping the barrel when you get to ‘ _cat enthusiast_ ’.” She looked over the paper, grinning at Regina. “People don’t actually answer these?”

“I can’t say,” Regina shrugged, carrying two cups of coffee to the table. “I imagine some of them get answered, but I don’t know how much action a self-proclaimed cat enthusiast is getting.”

“If you ask me—”

Before Tink could offer any more thoughts on the sex lives of cat enthusiasts, the doorbell rang. Henry perked up.

“That’s Dad,” he said, scrambling out of his chair. Regina caught his arm before he could run past her.

“Finish eating, _I’ll_ get it,” she said, nodding at his half-finished breakfast. Henry tilted his head back and groaned, but obediently trudged back to the table. Regina waited until he had forked another mouthful of eggs before walking to the front door, smoothing her blazer down. _Be nice, be nice, be nice,_ she reminded herself, the rhythm of her chant matching that of her shoes clacking against the hardwood. _Be nice, be nice, be—_

She swung the door open, preparing a pleasant, “Good morning!”; but what came out was: “Jesus Christ, Neal. You look awful.”

Neal raised his eyebrows. “Wow. Thanks.”

“Sorry,” grimaced Regina; although, she didn’t think she was being unfair. There were dark circles under his eyes and he seemed to be swaying under the weight of exhaustion. She eyed him carefully, trying to decide how much she trusted the care of her twelve-year-old to an apparent insomniac.

Neal seemed to sense this, because he shook his head and said, “I’m fine, Regina. I had a hard time falling asleep last night, that’s all.”

Regina raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Why? Jet lag from Neverland?”

“Maybe,” he replied evenly. “But it doesn’t help that this place looks like the town from _In Cold Blood._ ”

She smirked, almost amused, and stood back to let him inside. “Henry’s finishing breakfast. You can have a coffee while you wait.”

“Thanks.”

Neal poked his head inside, letting out a low whistle as he looked over the expensive furniture and the modern art that graced the walls. “Damn,” he said, sounding impressed. “Nice place.”

She smiled coolly. “I know.”

He followed her down the hall, glancing from side to side with an interested gaze. As soon as they entered the kitchen, Henry’s head snapped up, his eyes eager.

“Dad!”

“What’s up, little man?” Neal grinned, ruffling his hair as he sat down.

 _Isn’t that nice?_ Regina reminded herself, suppressing the stab of jealousy in her heart. She’d promised Henry, that she would work on the whole _possessive psycho-bitch_ thing, and Step 1 was making room for his other parents.

She was passing Neal a cup of coffee when she noticed that Tink had tossed the newspaper aside and was now watching the scene with her chin propped on her hand. The fairy’s eyes flickered interestedly over Neal, and she smirked—the kind of smirk that made Regina think that Blue made a good call in refusing Tink a place in the convent, because nuns were not supposed to look at people like that.

Fairies were supposed to be _innocent_ creatures, weren’t they?

“So, Neal—” Regina cleared her throat, partly to distract from Tink’s leering—“what do you think about picking up Henry after school today? Letting him show you around?”

Henry and Neal both looked up in surprise.

“Seriously?” asked Henry.

“You’re okay with that?” said Neal.

“Yeah,” Regina said, lifting her cup to her lips. “Besides, I have a few projects I need to tackle today. I’m not sure how long it’s going to take.”

The “projects”, as it were, involved investigating the forest hoboes who had materialized out of thin air. From the sparse information she’d gathered, they’d put up a campsite in the middle of the woods and were—according to rumor—hunting their own food. Poaching was bad enough, but Regina knew for a fact, there was a small child among them, and she was _not_ going to allow a toddler to live outdoors in freezing temperatures.

But when Neal and Henry asked, all she said, “Mayor stuff. Not important.” She didn’t need an entire parade following her through the forest.

Henry ultimately decided that touring Storybrooke was too boring, and they would be better served getting ice cream and hitting the arcade. After a reluctantly permissive nod from Regina (coerced by Henry’s exasperated, “Mom, _please?”_ ), Henry polished off the rest of his breakfast and hopped out of his chair.

“Let’s go,” he said to Neal, swinging his backpack onto his shoulders. “Bye, Mom!”

Regina smiled, raising a hand in farewell as Henry clambered out the door with Neal close behind, feverishly explaining his high score on Space Something Or Other. Tink slowly twisted in her seat to watch them leave, her eyes never leaving Neal.

“Mmm-mmm- _mmm_ ,” she murmured, shaking her head appreciatively. “That Neal Cassidy is one _fine_ hunk of man.”

Regina spit out her coffee, choking. “ _Excuse me?”_

“Oh, you heard me,” Tink said, unperturbed. “That is one sexy bastard.” She glanced at Regina, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t you think?”

“No, I _don’t_ think!” Regina snapped. “And I appreciate it if you kept your lascivious thoughts to yourself! Goddamn it, Tink, I don’t want to hear this!”

“You asked,” she shrugged.

“Why would I ask for that?” Regina asked the ceiling. “No one asked for a narrative of your hormones, you just volunteered!”

“Well, so what?” Tink objected. “We agreed we were going to be friends, and this is what friends talk about. So if _I_ can put up with you betraying me and getting me exiled…”

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?” Regina muttered, closing her eyes.

“I don’t see that happening, no.” Tink leaned back in her seat, smirking. “Bet you’re really kicking yourself in the ass now, aren’t you?”

“I really am,” Regina sighed. “I really, really am.”

* * *

_Crrrrr-ick! Crrrrr-ick!_

Hook raised his eyes as Emma snapped the metal cuffs over his wrists “You do realize that this is the third time you’ve put me in handcuffs and I’ve yet to see anything interesting come of it?” He smirked, giving a shake of his head. “ _Tsk…_ Such a tease, Swan.”

“Remember that ‘right to remain silent’?” Emma said dryly, standing back as David took hold of Hook’s arm. “Might want to take advantage of that.”

Hook flicked a sarcastic smile. “Anything _you_ want to take advantage of?”

“Don’t be such a slut,” David muttered, steering him toward the police car. The flashing blue and white lights lent an impression of legal authority that a yellow Bug simply didn’t have, so Emma was rather glad that she’d let David talk her into using it.

She let out a slow breath, her fingers brushing against the sheriff’s badge at her hip as she circled around the back of the car. David was already in the passenger seat, staring determinedly forward as Hook tried to argue with him through the bars.

“…absolutely ridiculous, David, and you know it,” Hook was hissing when she opened the door. “‘ _Disturbing the peace’_? That’s not a real thing. You’re just abusing your power.”

“It’s a real thing, Hook,” David exhaled. “In fact, you’re lucky that’s all we charged you with.”

“He’s right,” Emma said, glancing at him in the rear view mirror. “Selling alcohol to minors, conspiracy to kidnap, prostitution…”

“Prostitution?” Hook frowned. “What are you on about?”

“I see how you dress,” she shrugged.

He shot her a disparaging look as she revved the engine. The snow muffled the sound of the tires as they rolled away from the docks and pulled onto the main road. David glanced out the window, humming serenely, while Hook muttered obscenities under his breath.

It was his own damn fault, Emma thought with a roll of her eyes.William Smee had escaped from _The Jolly Roger_ after being jumped by a couple of teenagers the night before, all of whom had claimed that Hook had offered them rum if they got Smee to the ship. It was so poorly-executed, Emma wasn’t even sure Hook _knew_ those things were illegal; so she’d given him a pass this time.

But he was going to have to learn that in this world, the law was more than just a friendly suggestion.

“I see we’re taking the scenic route,” David remarked when she took a left down a back road.

“Just wanted to make a quick stop before the station,” said Emma, nodding toward the tall trees and thickening, snow-covered foliage. “Remember what I said about those guys in the woods?”

David raised his eyebrows, jutting a thumb at Hook. “What are we going to do with this one?”

“ _This one,_ ” Hook muttered derisively.

“We’ll leave him in the car,” Emma shrugged. “He’ll be fine.”

Hook’s eyes widened with rage. “He absolutely will _not_ be fine!”

“Stay out of it,” David advised him, before turning back to Emma. “You sure you don’t want to drop him at the station first?”

“I just want to take a look around. Ten minutes, tops.”

She pulled over at a distance, hoping it was far enough that anyone in the forest wouldn’t be able to hear her tires crunching the snow and wayward branches. David checked his holster while Emma readjusted the handcuffs around Hook’s wrists, so that the chain looped through the metal bars before connecting.

“This is a bit excessive, don’t you think?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ve gotten out of handcuffs before,” Emma pointed out. She gave the cuff around his left wrist an extra tug to make sure the metal wouldn’t slip over the brace; then winked. “Don’t wander too far, now.”

“Bite me.”

Emma chuckled as she swung out of the car. David looked significantly less amused: he gave Emma a weary look as she beckoned him after her, trudging heavily through the snow.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he sighed as they ducked under a few branches. “Maybe we should take him with us. We might need back-up.”

“Back-up?” Emma scoffed. “It’s a couple of guys camping in the woods. What are they going to do—throw s’mores at us?”

“You said they had arrows,” David pointed out. “They’re armed, and they obviously know what they’re doing.” He cast an anxious gaze around the trees. “They could be anywhere, waiting to ambush us. If we brought Hook, he could have at least drawn fire.”

“He’s a liability,” said Emma, shaking her head. “I can’t trust him to have my back—he’d turn on us in a second, if he could get something out of it.”

“Would he?” David sounded disappointed. “I was kinda starting to think of him as…you know, part of the gang.”

Emma gave him an incredulous look. “Part of the—?”

_Snap!_

They both froze, eyes wide as they quickly skimmed the trees, ears perked for any more telltale sounds. Someone was close…possibly someone dangerous. Emma’s fingers curled around her gun: the cold metal trigger pulsed against her skin, waiting for release.

_Snap-snap-snap!_

Emma and David whirled around, guns aimed in the direction of the breaking twigs and crunching leaves. The “someone” wasn’t taking any pains to go undetected, which meant they were either really stupid or really dangerous.

“Get behind me, Emma,” David whispered out of the side of his mouth.

“I am _not_ using you as a shield,” she hissed back. “Besides, I’m sheriff, you’re just a deputy. If anyone’s getting behind anyone—”

“I’m your _father!_ ”

“And I’m your boss!”

 _CRACK!—_ a woman’s startled gasp—leaves rustling—

Something heavy—a branch, from the sounds of it—fell to the earth, twigs snapping and cracking amidst the rush of leaves. David and Emma immediately raised their guns as a slim figure darted out, her dark hair uncharacteristically askew, her designer coat frosted with snow.

Emma exchanged a confused look with David: what the hell was Regina Mills doing in the woods?

She looked around with incensed eyes, her hands balled into fists as she shouted at the trees. “Try that again, and so help me God,I will _cremate_ you!You got me? I’m talking, bones to ash—no stops in between!”

She turned on her heel and stalked toward David and Emma, still huffing angrily under her breath as she scrubbed the snow from her coat. “Well, if it isn’t Storybrooke’s finest,” she said acidly, by way of greeting. “Finally showing up to do your goddamn jobs? Well done, you two. I’m inspired.”

“Regina, what were you thinking?” David asked, ignoring the insult. “You shouldn’t be wandering around by yourself, it’s dangerous.”

“Thank you for your concern, David, but I’m the most dangerous thing in here.” Regina leaned forward, a mocking glint in her eye as she whispered, _“I think I can manage._ ”

Emma flicked her eyes, hardly in the mood to indulge Regina’s _scarier-than-thou_ attitude. “Okay, well, when you were walking around being dangerous, did you see anything weird or suspicious?”

“I don’t _know,_ ” Regina said, her voice as cold as iron. “I don’t exactly make a habit of trekking through the woods.”

“So I gathered.” Emma nodded toward the trees. “You get scared off by a squirrel?”

“It wasn’t a squirrel,” Regina said witheringly. “It was…well, I don’t know what it was. But it wasn’t a squirrel.”

“Of course not,” Emma smiled patronizingly; then leaned toward David and whispered perfectly audibly, _“It was a squirrel.”_

“It wasn’t a squirrel,” Regina said through her teeth.

“What are you even doing here?” Emma tossed back. “Shouldn’t you be doing mayor stuff? Or—gee, I don’t know— _looking after our son_?” She folded her arms bitterly. “God knows you bitched enough about spending time with him.”

“He’s with Neal.” Regina smiled wryly. “You may remember him as one of the guys you were juggling in Neverland, while the rest of us were trying to save Henry’s life? Check your diary—it’s probably written in purple gel pen with hearts dotting the i’s.”

Emma started toward her furiously, but David caught her armto hold her back. “ _Stop_ ,” he ordered, looking sternly between them. “I can’t believe you two are still going at it! Didn’t we sort out all our differences?”

“When did we do that?” Regina frowned.

“Didn’t we?” David asked, looking confused. “I was so sure we did…”

“I think it was more of a ‘common enemy makes friends of us all’-type situation,” ventured Emma. “I was hoping it would last, but _obviously…_ ”

Regina curled her lip. “Yes. Obviously.”

“ _Obviously_ ,” David interjected, “it’s going to take some work. Which I think you’re both willing to do, for Henry’s sake. Right?”

Emma shrugged; Regina looked away, smoothing her hair.

“Right?” David repeated, more of an edge in his voice.

“Right,” Emma muttered. Regina rolled her eyes with an acquiescing shrug.

“Good.” David released Emma, brushing his hands together as he jutted his chin at Regina. “So—what _are_ you doing here?”

“Same thing as you,” said Regina smoothly. “Investigating the intruders, looking for the campsite.” She glanced deliberately at Emma. “ _Mayor stuff,_ you might call it.”

“Great!” David said brightly, not noticing the derisive smile Emma shot back. “We can work together! How about a ‘Go, Team’, on three?”

“How about, sticking that ‘Go, Team’ straight up your—?”

“Let’s table the team-building exercises for now,” Emma said loudly. “I just want to find that camp and get to the bottom of this.”

By some miracle, Regina agreed to let Emma take the lead; under the logic that Emma was the one who’d stumbled upon the camp yesterday, therefore had the best idea of where it would be. Emma didn’t tell her the _reason_ why she’d been traipsing through the woods, knowing that she would have a field day with it; but thankfully, Regina seemed to accept that Emma would wander aimlessly through the wilderness as an act of leisure.

She started weaving a path through thickets of trees and fallen logs, following a trial-and-error-based maze until she vaguely recognized her surroundings. She hadn’t spent nearly as much time familiarizing herself with the woods as she should have; so she paid particular attention as they ventured deeper, knowing she’d need to retrace her steps on the way back.

The further they went, the more her memory jogged. She moved confidently across the clearing, her boots kicking up snow with every step. “We’re getting close!” she called over her shoulder. “It should be just over—”

There was a rustling in the trees overhead. Emma stopped in her tracks.

Whatever that was, it wasn’t a goddamn squirrel.

Making a mental note to apologize to Regina later, she surreptitiously loaded her gun. Behind her, David and Regina had quieted their footsteps; she could hear the quiet _click!_ of David’s gun, and she imagined sparks dancing around Regina’s fingers. Emma edged closer to the trees, her eyes darting between the branches.

“You can come out, whoever you are,” she called, her voice echoing slightly. “No need to be afraid. We’re all friends here.”

“Friends?”

Emma whipped her head to the left to a see a sandy-haired man with a crossbow tucked under his arm smirking at her. She wouldn’t have seen him if he hadn’t spoken: his dark green clothes acted almost as a camouflage beneath the trees.

“Forgive me, milady,” said the man with a mocking salute. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Robin of Loxley…” He slowly stepped out, repositioning the crossbow. “And you’re trespassing.”

“No one’s trespassing,” Emma said carefully, holding out her hand, as if to ward off his suspicion. “We’re just checking out the area. Making sure everyone’s safe.” She hesitated before adding, “You can trust us.”

“ _Trust_?” Robin echoed. His eyes darted to the star-shaped sheriff’s badge on her belt. “Why do I think you’re lying?”

“I’m not lying,” said Emma lamely.

“And I’m supposed to take the word of a sheriff?” Robin scoffed. “Law-abiding citizen, are you? Pure of heart? You’d be the first.”

“Fine. Don’t believe me,” she said, eyeing his crossbow apprehensively. “But you should know… I brought back-up.” She indicated David and Regina with a jerk of her head. “See that guy over there? He’s got a gun, and he’s a damn good shot.”

Robin flicked a smile. “So am I.”

“Go ahead, then,” Emma challenged. “Try to shoot me. Because that woman over there? She’s got magic. And she could reduce this entire forest to ash before your arrow even left your bow.”

She had no idea if that were really true, but a flicker of unease passed over Robin’s face. He stepped a little further out, almost curiously, to cast his gaze over this dangerous woman. Emma held her breath, hoping Regina intimated him as much as she intimidated everyone else.

Robin’s eyes widened briefly; then darted back to Emma.“You know Regina?”

“Yeah.” She blinked. “Wait— _you_ know Regina?”

“I met her at the pub,” Robin said, leaning forward to get a better look. “She found my son.”

“You have a son?”

“Of course I have a son. What did I just say?” He looked at Emma, eyes narrowed in consideration. “Tell you what: if she can vouch for you, I’ll accept your good word and we’ll have a truce.”

Emma stared at him for a minute, not quite believing what she was hearing. “So…you’re telling me…you’ll take _Regina’s_ word…over mine?”

“That’s right.” Robin raised his eyebrows. “Won’t be a problem, will it?”

“No, it’s just…” Emma let out an incredulous laugh. “I never thought I’d need Regina to be a character witness for me. On the basis that she’s more trustworthy than me.” She kept laughing, shaking her head as she beckoned David and Regina closer. “Next thing you know, Gold’s going to be running a daycare and Hook’s going to join the Peace Corps…”

“You talk a lot,” Robin observed.

David and Regina approached as quickly as they dared, David stealing furtive glances around them while Regina’s eyes narrowed on Robin. She didn’t seem remotely surprised to see him; though the crossbow gave her pause.

“Robin, wasn’t it?” she said politely, not returning his smile.

“It was.” Robin nodded at Emma. “You didn’t tell me you were affiliated with law enforcement.”

“You didn’t tell me that you were affiliated with unwashed hobos who skin their dinner every day,” Regina returned coolly.

Robin raised his eyebrow in amusement. “Some women find it charming.”

“Others find it disappointing.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Interesting choice of words. _Disappointing_ suggests the fall of certain hopes or ideals.”

“With particular emphasis on _the fall._ ”

Emma gritted her teeth. It was all well and good if Robin and Regina wanted to flirt while pretending they weren’t flirting—but did it have to be _now?_ When there was still a crossbow pointed threatening at her heart?

“Hey, guys,” she piped up. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’d really love it if we could straighten this whole thing out sans weapons and general hostility. So, Regina—you think you could tell Robin what great friends we are and how he can trust me?”

Regina blinked, as though she’d completely forgotten Emma was there. Mechanically, she unfolded her hand, as if presenting Emma for show-and-tell. “This is Emma Swan. We’re great friends, and you can trust her.”

Robin did a double-take. “Emma—?”

“Swan, yes.”

“Emma Swan, as in, Neal Cassidy, my-son-is-trapped-in-Neverland Emma Swan?” he asked incredulously, staring at her with wide eyes. “You’re Neal’s Emma?”

She sputtered, red-faced. “I’m—he’s not—we’re just—”

“You know Neal?” Regina frowned.

“When did you even _meet_ Neal?” asked David bewilderedly.

“A few weeks ago, in the Enchanted Forest,” Robin said absently, still staring at Emma. “He told us how his family was trapped in Neverland, so we helped him hitch a ride with a shadow. He found you, then?” he asked Emma, looking hopeful.

Emma nodded, avoiding everyone’s gaze as she fiddled with her gloves. The words _Neal’s Emma_ echoed in her head, in a confusing mixture of humiliation, elation, and a heartfelt desire to be invisible.

“Good,” Robin breathed. “We were all a bit worried he wasn’t going to make it. As Neal put it, shadow-travel’s a bitch.”

“So I’ve heard,” David chuckled. “Although, traveling via flying pirate ship captained by a perpetually drunk narcissist isn’t exactly a skip through the gardens, either.”

Robin smiled, as though he wasn’t entirely convinced of David’s sanity. “Sorry—who did you say you were?”

“David.” He reached to shake Robin’s hand. “Emma’s father, Henry’s grandfather. And you?”

“Robin of Loxley,” was the proud reply. “Head of the Merry Men!”

David’s smile twitched. “Of the what now?”

“The Merry Men?” Robin knit his brow, apparently confused by David’s lack of recognition. “The ragtag band of outlaws and rapscallions who steal from the rich to give to the poor? Surely you’ve heard of us?”

“ _Loxley,_ ” Regina breathed, her eyes wide. “I _knew_ I recognized that name!”

“You _have_ heard of us,” Robin said in satisfaction.

“Yes, I read your name off the countless ‘ _Wanted_ ’ posters I ordered posted around the countryside,” she hissed.

Robin’s smile faded. “That _you_ ordered?”

“Mmm.”

“But wouldn’t that mean…?”

Regina’s eyes danced with malice. “That I’m the queen?”

“Shit,” Robin swore; then immediately shook his head, wincing in regret. “Apologies. That’s hardly appropriate language to use before a lady, let alone a queen.”

Gasps and whispers from the trees echoed fearfully:

“ _Queen_?”

“She’s a royal!”

“Everyone, scatter!”

Emma let out a yelp as an arrow whizzed— _zzzzzt!—_ centimeters from her face, embedding itself into the tree behind. She stared with wide eyes at its still-quivering feather.

“Damn it all to hell! Who fired that?” Robin demanded, glaring around.

No one answered.

“Will?”

Silence.

“Alan?”

Not a word.

“John, so help me God…”

“Won’t happen again, sir,” grunted a deep voice.

“I’m _talking_ to people, John!” Robin snapped. “I’d prefer it if they survived the rest of the conversation!” He turned back to the three of them, his glare softening apologetically. “Sorry about that. They tend to be skittish around your kind.”

“No need,” David reassured him. “Right, Regina?”

“I suppose not.” Regina pursed her lips distastefully. “I’ve already pardoned a pirate for two centuries’ worth of crime. I’m not going to hang a petty thief.”

Robin arched an eyebrow at the word _centuries_ , but didn’t ask. “Then, if you’re not here to hang me, what _are_ you here for? We haven’t much to offer, but good company and strong ale—and I’m getting the strong indication that you’re not in the mood for either.”

“Let’s call it, ‘curiosity’,” Emma said quickly, before Regina could make a smart-ass remark. “We’re a little confused about how you guys managed to get from _over there_ to _over here._ There’s not supposed to be any portals left, so we were hoping that you would want to come with us down to the station—shed some light?”

Robin suddenly looked wary, like a deer that has just heard the click of a loaded rifle.

“It’s okay,” Emma tried to soothe him. “We just want to talk.”

“I don’t know if I should say,” Robin said carefully. “The circumstances involved…a creative interpretation of the law.”

“That’s okay,” David told him. “We just want to know what happened.”

Robin bit his lip indecisively, his eyes darting between the two of them before resting on Regina. He considered her for a moment, trying to read something in her expression that Emma couldn’t see.

“All right,” he said after a moment, his eyes not leaving Regina. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll come down to this station of yours, tell you what I know…in exchange for a royal pardon.”

“Done.” David held out his hand, but Robin shook his head.

“Not you,” he said. “I want the queen’s word, that she will grant me and all my men a royal pardon. Otherwise, I’m not talking.”

“Well, it’s…” David looked awkwardly at Regina. “It’s still up in the air, who has more royal authority here, so maybe—”

“Agreed,” Regina said, cutting smoothly though David’s rambling.

“You give me your word?” Robin pressed.

“Oh, I’ve got a couple words for you,” Regina smirked.

“Regina,” Emma muttered through her teeth.

“ _Yes,_ you have my word,” she rephrased with a derisive flick of her eyes. “Royal pardons, forest-wide. But know this—” she stepped toward Robin, pointing a threatening finger in his face—“if the tiniest suspicion crosses my mind that you’re lying to me or holding anything back, I _will_ hang you. And then I’ll set fire to your corpse and roast marshmallows over it. _Capisce?_ ”

Robin grinned. “Whatever you say, milady.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say an enormous thank you to everyone who reviews. Particular shout-out to guest reviewers, who I can't respond to directly: seriously, guys, I read every single one of your comments over and over and over because it literally makes me cry with happiness. Thank you SO MUCH, I seriously love you guys.

“All right, boys—” Ruby pushed two glass bowls of vanilla ice cream across the counter— “two sundaes, with the works.”

“Thanks, Ruby,” Neal said, as Henry dug into an appreciative spoonful of chocolate fudge.

“No problem,” Ruby smiled, smoothing her apron. She glanced at Henry, then leaned closer to mutter to Neal, “There’s, like, an actual fuckton of sugar in those sundaes, so keep an eye on that kid. He’s going to be bouncing off the walls in the next hour.”

“Oh.” Neal’s smile faded. “Yeah, I-I didn’t think of that.”

Ruby batted his words away with a dismissive smile. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

 _Will I?_ Neal thought wearily. He’d barely had a week with the kid before everything turned upside down. For all the crossbows and dark magic and sadistic teenagers, Neverland had been the easy part. All he’d had to do, was be willing to give up everything to save Henry, because that’s what parents did.

He knew how to be a father.

He wasn’t sure he knew how to be a dad.

His phone buzzed with a text, rattling against the counter. Neal frowned and slid his thumb across the screen to read the message from Emma:

_We’ve got a guy at the station, says he knows you. Need some help verifying, so can you come by?_

“Who’s that?” Henry asked, more focused on fishing the cherries out of his sundae.

“Your mom,” Neal said slowly, typing back a reply. “Emma, I mean. She wants me to come down to the station.”

Henry’s eyebrows flew up. “You guys are texting?”

Neal scoffed. “Don’t even go there, Henry. It’s not like that.” He tossed down the phone and picked up his spoon, trying to pretend his half-melted ice cream was appetizing. “Tell me about school or something.”

“School?” Henry crinkled his brow. “Who cares about school? It’s boring.”

“Then tell me about something else,” Neal shrugged, picking cherries out. “What kind of music do you like?”

“I don’t really like music.”

Neal nearly dropped his spoon. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t listen to music, anyway,” Henry mused, apparently deaf to the concern in Neal’s voice. “I used to read a lot. My mom only let me use the computer for homework.”

“Yeah, but…” Neal smiled in disbelief. “It’s not like she didn’t _let_ you listen to music, did she?”

“I don’t think she had any rules against it,” Henry said around a mouthful of ice cream. “I just didn’t see the point.”

Neal blinked several times, struggling to come to terms with this disturbing reality. “Okay, um—” he coughed into his fist— “let me ask you this, Henry: does the name ‘Bob Dylan’ mean anything to you?”

“No.”

“Jimi Hendrix?”

“No.”

Neal closed his eyes, barely managing to choke out, “David Bowie?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Oh, my God.” He covered his hands, utterly demoralized. “This is so many levels of wrong _,_ ” he said in a muffled voice.

“Dad?” Henry picked up one of his hands, peering at him critically. “You don’t look so good. Do you want some water?”

Neal shook his head wearily. “We gotta work on your music appreciation, kid. You can’t go through life not knowing who David Bowie is.”

Henry smiled, as though he wasn’t sure whether or not Neal was joking.

“Finish your ice cream,” Neal sighed. “And then we’ll go see what your mom wants.”

* * *

Half an hour later, Neal was walking into the sheriff’s station with Henry trailing after him, carrying the Tupperware container of brownies the Ruby had asked them to pass onto Emma.

“Tell her to pace herself,” she’d said with a twinkle in her eye. “They’re…extra chocolatey.”

Neal eyed her shrewdly. “You get the recipe from your friend, Mary Jane?” he’d asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ruby’s smile had widened mischievously.

Obviously, Neal had watched Henry like a hawk to make sure he didn’t sneak one of those “extra chocolatey” brownies. “Cavities,” was the excuse he’d given to Henry, not really wanting to be responsible for introducing the kid to the wonders of marijuana. “Too much sugar is going to ruin your teeth.”

As they walked into the station, Henry took the lead: he clearly knew his way around the place, walking several feet ahead of Neal to point out the various rooms.

“That’s the evidence room,” he explained, gesturing like a flight attendant, “and a bathroom over there—janitor closet there—no idea what that one is—and the main office is down here.”

The door was already propped open to give them a partial view of the cells, which housed a bored-looking pirate lounging on a ratty cot. A wry smile flitted across his face when he saw Neal.

“Well, you certainly took your time, didn’t you?”

“You didn’t.” Neal raised his eyebrows dryly. “Couldn’t make it one day before getting arrested?”

Hook rolled his eyes.“Charges are rubbish,” he said. “Your little girlfriend’s got an obsession with morality.”

Neal frowned. “She’s not my—”

“Neal?”

Both of them swiveled their heads in the direction of Emma’s voice. She was walking out of her office, the glass panes of which showed several other people bobbing around the small space. Henry was seated on the table across from the cells, legs dangling over the edge; looking between his parents with hopeful eyes as Emma approached Neal.

“Where the hell have you been?” she asked, her hands palm-up in question. “I texted you ages ago.”

“I was with Henry,” Neal said, nodding toward him. “He wanted to finish his sundae.”

Emma shot him an exasperated look, but turned to give Henry half a smile. “How you doing, kid?”

“Good,” Henry chirped. He held out the brownies. “Ruby made these for you. She said, they’re extra chocolatey.”

Emma raised an eyebrow at Neal, silently asking as she took the brownies from Henry: _Extra chocolatey?_

Neal grinned, nodding slightly.

“Jesus Christ,” Emma muttered, and with a roll of her eyes, tossed the brownies in a drawer. “You can sit down,” she told Neal, waving vaguely at a chair. “They’re all arguing in my office, I’ll tell them you’re here.”

Neal took a seat at the desk opposite Henry, watching as Emma poked her head in the door and said something to the effect of, “Everybody, shut up and follow me.”The voices quieted, and several people filed out behind their irritable sheriff: David, Snow, Regina, and—

Neal’s eyes widened incredulously. “ _Robin?”_

“Neal!” Robin’s face lit up in delight. He bounded over, laughing, and wrapped Neal in a painfully tight hug. “I can hardly believe it!”

“Me, neither,” Neal choked; massaging his neck as Robin released him. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s the million-dollar question,” Emma grimaced, folding her arms. “So far, all he’s said, is it was by vaguely illegal means.”

“Which is sort of why you’re here,” David said to Neal. “He’s not really comfortable talking to me or Emma, and he keeps getting distracted with Regina—”

Snow elbowed Regina, who was staring daggers at Robin.

“—so, we were hoping that with you here, it would make everything go a little more smoothly,” David finished. “We asked Robin, and he said that if we could get you down here, he’d feel much more at ease.”

Neal looked helplessly at Robin. “Would that really make a difference?”

“I trust you, Neal.” Robin dropped his voice and leaned in, so that only Neal could hear— “I’m sorry— I know she’s your girl and everything, but I don’t know about that sheriff.”

“She’s not my—” Neal began exasperatedly; then shook his head. “All right, whatever. Let’s just get this done.”

For a few minutes, there was a quiet chaos during which everyone tried to situate themselves comfortably. Robin took Neal’s empty chair, while David and Snow dawdled closer to the cells. Regina remained at the file cabinets with tightly folded arms, and Henry was flanked by his biological parents, with Emma in the seat and Neal half-perched on the desk beside him.

Robin’s eyes followed Neal and rested on Henry, a smile crawling on his face as he took in the boy’s features. “Is this your son?”

“Yes,” said Emma, Neal, and Regina at the same time.

“I’m Henry,” Henry offered, looking at Robin with interest. “Who are you?”

“Robin of Loxley.” Robin leaned back in his seat, exhaling with fake modesty. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me and my Merry Men?”

“Oh, yeah. The Merry Men.” A smirk tugged at Henry’s mouth, as though he were trying not to laugh. “Kick-ass name for a gang.”

“Don’t say ‘ass’, Henry,” Snow admonished softly.

“They are well-named,” Robin maintained. “I’ve never seen anyone so merry as Little John after he’s beaten a man to death.”

“He’s exaggerating,” Neal muttered under his breath.

“I know,” Henry whispered back.

“If we’ve finished discussing your boy band’s credentials,” Regina drawled from her corner, “maybe we could get on with the task at hand?”

“Right you are, milady,” said Robin, wagging a finger at her. “Now, then—every tale needs a good title, so I think we’ll call this one—” he swept his hand over an imaginary banner— “ _The Last Great Heist of the Merry Men_. Subtitle: _Or Is It?_ ”

Neal closed his eyes briefly, suppressing the urge to tell Robin to skip the theatrics and get to the goddamn point.

“As you may be aware, the Dark Curse left our land in tatters,” Robin began, a faraway look in his eye. “Ogres roam freely, monsters lurk in the shadows. Hardly any scraps left of civilization in the ravaged apocalypse Misthaven has become. But there a few port cities left where a man might find a strong drink and some desirable company: small comforts in a war-torn world, but comforts, to be sure.

“After meeting Neal and seeing him off to Neverland, we accepted a few additions to our band of outlaws. Three, to be specific: Mulan, a great warrior; Phillip, an okayish warrior; and Aurora, a…well, a very sweet girl, I suppose.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “You mean, they—?”

“Questions at the end, please,” Robin interrupted, flinging up a hand. “We’d been living in the remains of the Dark One’s castle, but resources were running low. My men and I, we’re scrappy, but Aurora is expecting a child. So, in her and the baby’s best interests, we decided we had to leave the realm and find a safer home. We packed the horses and set off for the nearest port city, in the hopes that we might find or hear about some means of escape.

“There’s a tavern called _The Ugly Duckling_ , where only the darkest of souls dare venture. I took three of my best men inside, keeping our eyes and ears open. Our opportunity came in the form of Old Blue-Eyes himself.”

Neal crinkled his brow. “Frank Sinatra?”

“ _Edward Teach,_ ” Robin hissed dramatically. “The villainous Blackbeard! The most bloodthirsty, black-hearted devil to ever set sail!”

From his cell, Hook popped his head up, frowning.

“He was drinking and gambling, boasting tales of his greatest treasures in ringing tones. It was there we learned that he had, on his person, the most valuable trinket in all the realms.” Robin spread his hands, pausing for effect “ _A magic bean._ ”

“Fucking magic beans,” Emma swore, while Snow and David exchanged an exhausted look. Regina pursed her lips, and Hook let out a disbelieving laugh, muttering, “Jesus Christ, not again…”

Robin looked around, puzzled. “I’m sorry?”

“We had some magic bean drama on this side, too,” Neal explained. “Everyone’s still a little bitter about it. Go on about Blackbeard?”

“Right, yeah. Blackbeard.” Robin cleared his throat , reclaiming the room’s attention. “So, he’d been drinking and spinning some yarn about how he killed the last giant. It sounded like a tall tale, but I didn’t really care how he’d got the bean—only that he had it. Later on, Blackbeard decided he’d had enough to drink and got up from his table. I followed him, while my men went out the back way. Drunken fool that he was, he wandered off the path and into the shadowed forest, with only a sliver of moonlight to guide his way. And so…” Robin leaned back in his seat, inhaling deeply. “We attacked.”

“No!” Snow gasped.

“ _Yes!”_ Robin said with relish. “He’s a great brute of a man, his teeth long and yellow like a rabid dog—his eyes wild as a hurricane! And the sheer, bloody rage…He fought back, his great sword swinging furiously, thirsting after my blood! He might have triumphed on the deck of a ship, but no one knows the forest like Robin of Loxley! I used her cunning shadows and hidden roots to deceive his eye, while my men fired from branches overhead. We had him at our mercy, and to his everlasting shame…” A smile spread on his face, his eyes gleaming at his own cleverness. “We robbed him blind. We took his money, his sword…and we took his magic bean.”

Silence fell as everyone stared at Robin, stunned.

“Wow,” Emma said after a few minutes, blinking. “That’s…”

“Incredible,” said David in wonder.

“Amazing,” Snow breathed.

“Bullshit,” scoffed Hook.

Everyone’s heads swiveled toward Hook,. He flicked a smile and leaned against the bars, pretending to not to notice that he had the full room’s attention. Robin slowly stood up, a frown creasing his forehead as he eyed Hook.

“What was that, mate?” he asked; his words polite, but his voice tense. Hook barely glanced over, fanning out his hand to examine his rings.

“I said, it was bullshit,” he exhaled. “I don’t care how drunk he is. No pirate gives up his treasure, especially not to a common thief. Blackbeard would have ripped your throat out with his bare hands.”

“Common thief?” Robin sputtered indignantly. 

“And for the record,” Hook added witheringly, “ _I_ am the most bloodthirsty, black-hearted devil to set sail.” He raised his hook. “Savvy?”

“No, I don’t _savvy,_ ” Robin spat. “Who the hell are you?”

“The village idiot,” Neal said with a roll of his eyes. “Seriously, Robin, he’s nobody—”

“ _Killian Jones,_ ” Hook interrupted, giving Neal a severe look. “Captain of _The Jolly Roger._ Better known as ‘Hook’.”

“Better known as ‘the reason why I smoke’,” Neal muttered. He took Robin’s elbow, trying to lead him back to his seat. “Come on, they’ll have questions for—”

“I have to defend my honor!” Robin insisted, tugging his arm away. “He’s calling me a liar!”

“Are you a liar?”

“No!”

“Great.” Neal clapped his hand on Robin’s shoulder with a tense smile. “Honor defended. You want sit down, answer some questions?”

Robin narrowed his eyes, looking as though he would have much preferred to punch Hook in the throat than answer any questions; but relented nonetheless. “Very well,” he growled, retaking his seat. “Fire away, sheriff.”

David and Emma immediately began lobbing questions at Robin: ranging from the names of the Merry Men residing in the forest to Aurora’s current condition, and everything sideways and in-between. Neal stood back, arms folded as he drifted closer to the cells, where Hook was still keeping a derisive eye on everything.

“You really think he’s lying?” Neal asked, low enough that only Hook could hear.

“Not in the slightest,” Hook muttered back. “It was a test.”

“Test?” Neal turned, raising his eyebrows. “A test of what?”

Hook shrugged. “Just to see what kind of man he is. It’s easy to hide behind a mask when everything’s calm and lovely, but true colors show when anger strikes.”

“Really?” said Neal dryly. “Because from here, it just looked like you were being a dick.”

“Aye, that, too.”

Neal’s eyes flickered toward Robin. He thought he had a pretty good idea of who Robin was, but curiosity prompted him to ask: “So, what kind of man is he?”

“Proud,” Hook decided, “but honorable. He was ready to strangle me when I called him a liar, and even more so when I called him ‘common’. He’s not afraid to defend himself, which I can respect; but he’s got a quick temper. Definitely the type to shoot first and ask questions later.”

Neal nodded slowly, considering how accurate Hook’s appraisal was. “That sounds about right.”

“I know,” Hook mused. “I’m pretty good at reading people.” He glanced at Neal, lifting his eyebrows. “Which is why, as far as Emma goes…”

 _Here we go,_ Neal thought, gritting his teeth He rather wished he’d let Robin punch Hook after all. “Yeah?”

The pirate shrugged. “I’m taking myself out of the running.”

Neal stared at him, eyes narrowed incredulously.

What the hell was he talking about? _Taking himself out of the running?_ Just like that? He’d made such a big deal over his brief _dalliance_ with Emma in Neverland, made it seem like it was all some tragic love triangle that would only end with a duel and outdated jargon— _and he was just giving up?_ How? Who _did_ that?

“You serious?” he asked after a minute.

“Oh, I’m serious as cancer.”

“But _why?”_ Neal said, bewildered. “After all that—?”

Hook frowned and put a finger to his lips as Robin’s interrogation ended. _Later,_ he mouthed.

Chairs began scraping back and footsteps shuffled, everyone repositioning and murmuring amongst themselves. David shook Robin’s hand, while Emma called out orders, pulling her jacket back on.

“Neal.” Regina’s brisk voice pulled him out of his thoughts, her high heels clicking alongside Henry’s sneakers as they approached. “I’m taking Henry home now.”

“Home?” Neal blinked several times, shaking his head to clear it. “ _Home_. Right.”

“It’s nearly dinnertime.” Regina pursed her lips, hesitating. “It would be rude of me not to invite you…”

 _But please don’t make me invite you._ Neal shook his head, smiling. “I’ve got some things to do,” he lied, for Regina’s benefit. “I’ll see you later, buddy.”

“Bye, Dad,” Henry grinned, letting Neal mess up his hair. Regina put her hand on the small of his back, giving Neal a polite nod as she guided Henry out the door.

Emma drifted over, hands in her pockets, raising an eyebrow at Regina’s retreating back. “She’s a lot nicer to you than she is to me,” she remarked. “What’d you do? Compliment her pantsuit?”

“Might have been her shoes,” Neal said seriously, nodding.

Emma quirked a smile. “So, listen,” she said, rummaging in her pocket for something. “I have to drive Robin back to his camp before I stop by the hospital to make an appointment for Aurora. Think you can lock up for me?”

She tossed him a ring of keys, which he managed to catch with one hand; confused as he was. “Wait—why am I locking up for you?”

“I saw you two whispering together, in the middle of my interrogation,” Emma said, jutting her chin at Hook, who was murmuring a song as he paced in his cell. “Must have been important, whatever it was.”

“What, that?” Neal scoffed. “No, it really—”

“Neal, it’s fine,” Emma cut in, shaking her head. “Whatever you guys were arguing about, I’d rather you get it out of your system now, when I’m not in the room.” She glanced over her shoulder, checking to see how Robin and David were coming along; then turned back to Neal. “I don’t want a repeat of Neverland, so get your shit figured out. You don’t have to be friends—just be civil.”

“Em—” he started to say.

“Just drop my keys off at the loft before you go home tonight,” she said, already turning on her heel. “Guys, let’s go! Burning daylight!”

Snow, David, and Robin followed her, Robin giving Neal a wave as he passed. Neal looked after them helplessly, his mouth still open in protest as the door swung shut, leaving him and Hook alone in the station. Somehow, it felt more suffocating than it had when it was filled with people.

He exhaled, slowly swiveling on his heel to look at the still-humming pirate. Hook didn’t seem to notice the attention, watching his rings catch the light as he moved his fingers.

“ _…all for me grog, jolly jolly grog,_ ” he sang. “ _Hmmm-hmm-hmm-hmm, jolly jolly grog…_ ”

Neal cleared his throat.

“Yes, Neal, what is it?” He spoke with an exaggerated patience, not looking up from his rings.

“We gotta talk,” Neal said shortly; giving a little shrug as he added, “Apparently.”

“Apparently?” echoed Hook, raising his eyebrows. “ _Love_ the enthusiasm.”

Neal smiled sarcastically. “Look,” he said, swinging a chair around to sit down. “I’m fine with skipping the heart-to-heart and sweeping everything under the rug. But Emma seems to think we need to straighten a few things out, so we don’t—”

“ _Battle for her affections_?” Hook interrupted, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Yes, I heard.”

“Okay, what _is_ that?” Neal asked exasperatedly. “This weird, new _hey, whatever_ attitude you’ve got with Emma? What’s your game?”

“My game?” Hook repeated, crinkling his brow.

“Yeah. Your game. Is this some sort of bizarre reverse psychology thing to win her over?”

“Why would I do that?” Hook asked the ceiling. “I said, I’d taken myself out of the running, didn’t I?”

“But _why?_ ” Neal pressed. “You spent the entirety of Neverland chasing after her. You made literal _speeches_ on it, with fucking tears in your eyes—”

“There weren’t tears in my eyes—”

“There were _tears,_ ” Neal said loudly. “And look—I don’t care, okay? All I’m interested in right now, is getting to know my kid. I’m not going to fight you for Emma, so whatever mind games you think we’re playing—”

“I’m not playing mind games, Neal,” Hook said through his teeth, his patience clearly tested. “I’ve cut my losses, I’m moving on.”

Neal raised an eyebrow. “You want to elaborate on that?”

“Do you really need me to?”

“No,” he shrugged. “But indulge me.”

Hook tilted his head, considering Neal thoughtfully. “A gentleman might free a man of this cage,” he said, running his fingers against the metal bars. “Or at least offer us a drink.”

Neal lifted his chin, thinking. There was a vending machine down the hall… “Wait here.”

Five minutes later, he returned, two ice-cold energy drinks in hand. He popped the tab and passed one to Hook through the bars.

“What is this?” he asked, eyeing it dubiously.

“Caffeine.” Neal turned it over, glancing at the label: _Blue Blizzard._ Hmm…That could either be really good, or really, really bad. He looked at Hook, who was still examining his drink with a worried frown. “All right—you got your drink. Talk.”

Hook nodded vaguely, sinking to a seat on the edge of the cot. His eyes were still fixed on the can as he turned it between his fingers, choosing his words carefully. “You remember the Echo Caves,” he said finally. “When Pan made us all divulge our darkest secrets.”

Neal nodded, even though it wasn’t a question.

“Except you only heard Emma’s.” Hook raised his eyes. “You didn’t hear mine.”

“You told me yours,” Neal frowned. “That you kissed Emma.”

“ _Wrong_.” He leaned forward, pointing his hook at Neal. “It was what it made me realize. Because it _should_ have felt disloyal to Milah, like I was betraying her memory—but it didn’t. You want to know what it felt like?”

“Not particularly, but okay.”

“It felt like a second chance,” Hook said flatly. “Like I could move on, find someone else. And for a minute there, I thought maybe— _maybe—_ that someone was Emma.” He sat back, giving a little shrug as he added, “But then she found you.”

Which had been a mixed bag, Neal thought, reflecting on Emma’s words. _I’ve always loved you, I probably always will._ Good. _I was hoping you were dead._ Less good.

“It’s not about what she said, mate,” Hook exhaled, apparently reading his thoughts. “I told you, I’m good at reading people. And Emma, well…she’s an open book. Wears her heart on her sleeve like it’s part of her outfit,” he added with a roll of his eyes. “I could tell from the minute she saw you, she wasn’t over you. She never _got_ over you. And I say that as a man who spent two hundred years trying to get over a lost love, so believe me—I know what it looks like.”

Neal stared at him, lost somewhere between shock and total confusion: like having a math problem with all the right numbers adding up to the wrong answer. “But you kept going after her,” he heard himself say. “If you thought it was so hopeless, why did you even bother?”

Hook flicked a smile. “I don’t like losing,” he said, and raised his energy drink in mock salute. “Thought I might give it a shot, reclaim my pride, but…” He shrugged and took a swig—and instantly choked, spraying out a stream of _Blue Blizzard._ “That’s _vile!_ ” he rasped, glaring at the can. “You don’t actually drink this?”

“Sometimes.”

Hook shook his head ruefully, and took another sip. _“Ugh!”_ he coughed. “Just burned a hole in my esophagus!”

“Then why do you keep drinking it?” Neal frowned.

“It’s starting to grow on me.”

Neal sat back, watching as Hook alternated between sips and curse words; silently debating whether or not he believed him. Hook didn’t have any reason to lie…but this was the same man who’d spent _two hundred years_ chasing revenge. He didn’t give in, he was stubborn to the point of psychopathy.

Something was off, wasn’t it?

“You’re staring at me,” Hook said, peering into his can. “And I know it’s not just for my good looks.”

“Just thinking,” said Neal carefully, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “There’s one thing that still doesn’t make sense.”

Hook clicked his teeth. “You’ll have to be more specific, mate. There’s a lot of things in this world and the others that don’t make sense. Ever been to Wonderland?”

“I’ve been to New Jersey,” Neal smirked; then shook his head dismissively. “That’s not what I’m talking about, though. It’s about you.”

“It’s about me? Interest piqued.” Hook flourished his empty can mockingly. _“Proceed._ ”

Neal smiled, not really amused. “You never told me why you kissed Emma. I heard your whole thing about _what it meant_ and _how you felt,_ and it really tugged at my heartstrings and all—but why? Had to come from somewhere.”

“Aye,” Hook said swiftly. “From the fact that I haven’t had sex in thirty years.”

Neal ignored the quip.“You had the bean, you were ready to leave. There had to be something that not only made you turn around, but made you _sail back into Neverland._ You spent fuck-knows-how-many years trying to escape, and then you just waltz right back in? You didn’t do that for you.”

Hook narrowed his eyes, all traces of humor vanished. “What are you getting at?”

“You love her,” Neal said simply. “I don’t know how you managed to fall in love in the five minutes you spent talking to her, instead of trying to kill her—but somehow, you pulled it off. And since you’re the guy who spent two hundred years, avenging the woman you loved—” he flicked his eyes derisively, showing Hook how much he thought of that particular woman— “I find it hard to believe that you’re just giving up on Emma.”

Hook stared at him incredulously. “What do I have to do, _write it in blood?_ ”

“I’m just saying,” Neal shrugged, “it doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes sense, Neal!” Hook snapped. “You think I turned around for Emma? _Idiot._ I turned around for you!”

Neal raised his eyebrows dryly. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. It’s so. You ever see the helm of my ship?” Hook didn’t wait for him to answer. “Because every time I look at it, I see the compass I carved into it when I was teaching a boy to sail. The same boy I rescued from the mermaids; who I was ready to throw everything away for, so I could look after him.”

“The boy you ended up tossing to the Lost Boys after plying him for information on killing the Dark One,” Neal added witheringly. “What a tragic little hero you are.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For completely betraying me and ruining my life? Hey, no sweat.”

Hook’s face darkened. “Aye,” he said in a low voice. “I did betray you. Unforgivably.” He took a deep breath. “That’s why I turned around. That’s why I went back to Neverland. It wasn’t for Emma. It wasn’t even for Henry. It was because—” he swallowed, frowning; but his voice still trembled— “because I thought my last chance to do right by you…was to do right by your son.”

Neal looked at him for a long time: expressionless, unmoving, impassive. He slowly raised a finger and pointed at Hook, his mouth opening with a small _tsk._ “You’re not going to cry, are you?”

Hook blinked furiously. “No.”

“Your mascara’s running.”

“ _Son of a whore_!” Hook whirled around, cursing under his breath; putting his fingers to the corners of his eyes. “It’s the bloody blizzard drink you gave me,” he accused. “Stings my eyes.”

Neal considered his unopened energy drink; then raised his eyes, looking at Hook. “You want mine?” he offered.

Hook glanced over his shoulder, tiny black streaks running from his eyes. His gaze flickered between Neal and the drink. “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

“I don’t want it,” Neal shrugged. “Trying to quit smoking, and caffeine kinda just makes the cravings worse.”

“Well…” Hook slowly turned around, eyeing the energy drink as he stepped closer. He glanced at Neal, then reached through bars. “For your sake, then,” he said gallantly. He punctured the tab with the tip of his hook, and took a sip.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he gagged. “That’s wretched.”

“Yep.” Neal put his hands in his pockets, shifting back on his heels as he watched Hook tip the can back. “Hey, listen…”

Hook blinked a few times, his eyes half-wild with caffeine. “Yeah?”

“Just, uh—” Neal scratched the side of his face, searching for the right words— “I don’t know. I’m still kinda pissed with you, but…” He studied the tips of his shoes, not looking at Hook. “Thanks for telling me all that stuff.”

Hook tilted his head, trying to catch Neal’s eye. “I meant it, mate,” he said quietly, half-smiling. “Every word.”

“Whatever.”

He turned on his heel, walking out before things got too sentimental. He wasn’t interested in seeing any more of Hook’s man-tears, and he’d just about reached his limit of heartfelt confessions for the next century. But there was something satisfying about getting everything all out into the open… Uncomfortable as fuck, but it felt good to tell someone that he was angry; that he was _still_ angry; and that he would continue to be angry for the foreseeable future.

Because Neal _was_ angry: about a lot of things, and at a lot of people. Sometimes, anger was all he had to fill up that empty space inside of him. Every grudge he held had become another layer of protection, a piece of armor: some of them, he wasn’t ready to give up because he still needed that protection.

And for all his faults, Hook was the only person who hadn’t preached forgiveness to him; who seemed to understand that anger was sometimes more important than hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to hit me up with comments of things you'd like to see, and I'll do what I can to work it in, somehow. I partly started this version earlier, so I could fit in spoofing of other ridiculous plot lines in the show before the main event, so don't be shy. Thank you to everyone who is indulging me by reading a different version of a story you already read: I am overwhelmed with love and gratitude for you all.


End file.
